50 One-Word One Shots
by Annber03
Summary: As the title states – 50 one-shots based off 50 episodes with one-word titles. There will be some spoilers within! Further explanation of this exercise in my profile. DISCLAIMER: Still don't own the show or the characters.
1. Alchemy

**CHAPTER 1: Alchemy **_(Season 8, episode 20)_

**Character(s):** Reid, Rossi (and Maeve)

**A/N:** _Some end scene spoilers in this one, as well as spoilers involving mentions of deaths from past seasons. The bits of quoted dialogue in the part regarding Reid's conversation with Maeve are courtesy of Sharon Lee Watson, who wrote the episode. Also, if you aren't familiar with the song that played in the end scene of the show, please do check it out. It's called "Sleepwalk", it's by Santo & Johnny, and it is beautiful._

* * *

_"And all my days are trances, and all my nightly dreams _

_Are where thy grey eye glances, and where thy footstep gleams_

_In what ethereal dances, by what eternal streams." - Edgar Allan Poe, __To One in Paradise_

Were he to tell them about the dream in a world where she was still alive, his friends would've chuckled and shook their heads in that "Oh, Reid…" sort of way.

"So in this fantasy about Maeve, you're sitting in a coffee shop and discussing Doyle with her?" Morgan would've asked incredulously. And Reid would get a bit defensive, and there'd have been more light teasing, and he would blush and shrug it off.

But this was obviously not that world. Talking about his visions of Maeve made everything real, he felt, so for the longest time he didn't say anything. He wanted to avoid the looks of pity and sympathy, the well-meaning but non-comforting platitudes. He already knew he was close to the point of "needing to move on", he didn't need someone to remind him of that fact out loud.

In some ways, Reid took comfort in the fact that he was able to remember every last detail of his dream. He could recite his conversation with Maeve verbatim. His favorite moment was when she would laugh and ask in a gently exasperated tone, "Are you going to argue with _everything_ I say?", because he loved the smile that lit up her face as she peered at him. He couldn't help but start imagining the two of them sitting together on his couch on a Sunday afternoon, happily discussing and debating everything under the sun.

But this meant he also could remember when the music would start up, and she'd ask him to dance, explaining that, "I want to hold you once before I'm a ghost of a memory." He always chose to pretend he didn't hear the last part of that sentence.

As Reid had told Rossi during their talk at the police station in Rapid City, that was the part where he always forced himself to wake up. _I don't know how to dance,_ he'd explained to his elder teammate. What he forgot – neglected - to mention was the fear that, if he went to dance with Maeve, if he tried to hold her, she'd evaporate, or crumble to dust, or something.

Reid didn't plan on Rossi being the one he'd finally open up to. Sure, he'd lost someone, too – his first wife, Carolyn – but she'd died of illness. Hotch, on the other hand, had lost Haley in a manner similar to that of Maeve. Morgan grieved when he thought he'd lost Emily, who, like Haley, had also "died" in a violent way.

Of course, Emily was not actually dead, though. She came back. So that ruled talking to Morgan out. And Hotch was Reid's boss, so while he'd be sympathetic and listen, he'd also try and insist the younger agent follow grief protocol. Counseling.

Rossi was a bit different. He was the kind of guy who wasn't always tactful with his comments or advice, but Reid had always preferred honesty over sugarcoating anyway. Plus, he'd been instrumental in helping Reid the last time he was having recurring dreams (nightmares, actually, which ironically had also involved a death – in that case, it was that of a young boy). This time was no exception. Rossi had been firm, had made no bones about the fact that he was worried about his young friend's behavior. But he'd also empathized, listened, and most importantly, had let Reid know his feelings were okay.

He had been right, too, Reid realized, as he leaned back against the seat on the plane, closing his eyes. _Talking it out did help._ _Now let's see how attempting to sleep goes._

* * *

Sleep proved a bit fitful at first for Reid. All he could initially think of were images of Uncle Sal, or at least, what he imagined Sal to look like – a portly, middle-aged man, with the looks of a used car salesman. He pictured Sal working on his beloved car. Despairing over its destruction. All alone, in bed, falling ill.

Soon, though, Sal faded away, and the scene changed, back to the coffee shop, back to the music, back to _her_.

But this time, as Maeve held out her hand, Reid found himself reaching towards her. Found himself standing up, allowing her to pull him close. The song echoed softly in the background, quietly urging him on. _Dance while you can, the music will not last much longer._

Reid couldn't help but smile a bit, enjoying the feel of Maeve's arms around him. He shivered slightly as her hands lightly brushed against his neck, played with his hair. He, in return, wrapped her in a strong embrace, letting his fingers tenderly caress her back. Her touches were meant to comfort and reassure, his were to try and express how much he loved her, needed her.

Reid had no idea how long the two of them stayed like that.

* * *

The jet prepared for its descent back into D.C., causing Rossi to wake abruptly. He blinked and rubbed his eyes a couple times before taking a quick scan of the cabin. Most of the team were beginning to wake or gather their things, and there were random murmurs of "Thank god we're home."

Rossi chuckled to himself, running a hand over his face. His eyes then settled on the young man sitting across from him.

Reid's head was leaning against both the wall of the jet and the back of his seat. To the other man's surprise, he appeared to still be sound asleep. Rossi noticed a lone streak down one of Reid's cheeks from where a tear had evidently fallen at some point, but felt a sense of relief upon realizing Reid's mouth was curled up in a slight smile. For the first time in what seemed like ages, he actually looked a bit…peaceful. The whole scene almost made Rossi want to glance out the window and see if he could spot Maeve's spirit floating nearby somewhere.

Hotch came into view at that moment as he leaned over, reaching out to wake Reid. Rossi put his own hand out to stop the other man.

"Let him sleep a while longer, Hotch," he whispered. "I'll make sure he wakes up when we land."

Hotch's glance flickered between the two men for a moment before he simply nodded and turned away. Taking one more look at Reid, Rossi turned his gaze to the window as he sat back, waiting for the jet to touch ground.

_"Any little thing can give hope, like a candle in the dark." -Christiaan Mostert_

* * *

_Feedback is, as always, much appreciated!_


	2. Amplification

**CHAPTER 2: Amplification** _(Season 4, episode 24)_

**Character(s):** Reid, JJ

* * *

_"Secrets are made to be found out with time."-Charles Sanford._

Reid sat on his couch, perusing the stapled papers. But this time, he did so at half his normal reading speed. He wanted to make sure he'd covered every last little detail.

His lips pressed into a firm, satisfied expression. It all looked perfect. He proceeded to fold the papers up, making sure they were neat and crisp, and went off in search of the other item he needed.

The CD was tucked away deep inside Reid's messenger bag. He furtively pulled the recording out, clutching it close to his chest, as though he half expected someone from the Bureau to bust in and demand it back at any moment. Moving over to his desk, he flipped on his desk light and ruffled through his things momentarily before letting out a tiny, "A-ha!"

An empty envelope, complete with stamp and address already set up, lay on the desk under a small pile of papers. Picking it up, Reid stood for a moment, hesitating slightly, his index finger tapping the edge of the manila packaging. Whatever momentary question had grabbed him seemed to float away just as quickly, however, and he blinked himself out of his thoughts. Shaking his head, he slipped the paper and CD into the envelope, taking great care to make sure the contents were properly sealed inside.

The light illuminated Reid's watch, informing him it was 11:45 pm. Turning off both the desk and side table lamps, envelope still in hand, he shuffled towards his room and straight for his closet. There was one more thing he had to do. He fumbled around on the top shelf for a moment before his hands clamped onto an old shoe box, pulling it down.

Whenever Reid wrote his mom and told her of his life, yes, he'd told her about his teammates, and the cases they worked. She even knew that he'd been put in danger – held hostage, beaten up, tortured, drugged… Reid couldn't help but give a grim smirk as he mentally ran down the list of everything he'd been through. It would be almost comical, his constant brushes with death, if it weren't for the fact that those "brushes" seemed to get increasingly intense and horrifying.

His mom never knew, though, just how personally some of those cases had affected him. Sometimes, when Reid was feeling particularly despondent, he'd tell his mom he was "in trouble". "Struggling." "Having nightmares." All of which _was_ true on some level. But he never got _too_ specific, for fear of how she'd react, mostly. She was already dealing with enough problems, after all.

But all of that information was in the envelope that now rested inside that box, alongside other letters, messages, and little trinkets for everyone else Reid knew and cared about, "just in case" something ever happened to him on the job. He'd come up with the idea after the Hankel scare, when he found himself holding onto a highlighted copy of the Bible passage that he had misquoted to tip off his teammates. The contents slowly built up from there. And now, after the terrifying events with the anthrax scare that had made him almost deathly sick, he needed to add to the box once again.

He never told anyone about the container, though. He knew that if, heaven forbid, anything ever _did_ happen to him in the line of duty, his friends would find it when they came to help clear out his things. They would take what was left for them, and then they would send that envelope on to her. She would finally know every last little thing. And now she would be able to still hear his voice as well. He made a mental note to put in a little thank-you card and message to Garcia for her help.

Closing the lid, Reid gingerly set the box back up in its hiding place. As he finally crawled into bed, he checked to make sure the letter he actually _did_ plan to mail to his mom the next day was resting on the nightstand. Settling in, he found himself relishing each deep breath he took as he drifted off to sleep.

* * *

Henry's happy squeal brought JJ out of her reverie. She looked down, smiling as her son gazed up at her, his face lit up, his arms outstretched. Chuckling, she stopped for a moment to hand him a toy and kiss his forehead, cooing at him a bit, before continuing on.

_Just relax. It's been a month. You're fine now. He's been caught. _

But JJ found herself glancing around nervously anyway.

She hated this. It was bad enough her job had long ago made her increasingly suspicious of people at large. It was bad enough she found herself discussing disturbing topics and using words and phrases she never wanted to say aloud (it was becoming scary how easily she could rattle off the words "sexual assault" when talking to her teammates)

But now that she had Henry, not only did the suspicions run deeper, and the vocabulary get even more unsettling, but she also found herself becoming even more empathetic towards crimes involving parents and children.

She also noticed herself getting angry a lot more easily, too. Normally the picture of her son that sat on her desk would give her much needed peaceful, calming feelings and thoughts to last throughout each workday. But during the anthrax scare, anytime she looked at the photo, all she felt was fear and dread instead.

_You can't let them control you. If you do, they win. _She'd heard some variation of this advice from Hotch many times in the past, and knew that he was right, just as she knew (despite breaking it) that his rule about not calling home to warn loved ones was ultimately right.

Still, JJ couldn't help but grip the stroller a little bit tighter, her head cautiously moving back and forth, as she continued to walk through the park.

_"Fear is contagious. You can catch it."-Neil Gaiman_

* * *

_Reviews are welcome!_


	3. Birthright

**CHAPTER 3: Birthright** _(Season 3, episode 11)_

**Character(s):** JJ, Hotch

**A/N:** Some spoilers for this episode, as well as references to the episodes "Penelope" and "Scared to Death".

* * *

_"Making the decision to have a child is momentous. It is to decide forever to have your heart go walking around outside your body." - Elizabeth Stone_

JJ glanced up to Hotch's office. He was working, as always, buried in the paperwork on the case they'd just finished up. His head was bent, his focus intense.

It always unnerved her a bit, that intensity. One cold, hard gaze from him and you felt intimidated, ready to confess even the slightest of transgressions. He flashed that look so easily, to the point where, at times, JJ would almost swear he _had_ to have been born with his face looking like that.

She was unable, however, to shake the feeling that there was more hiding behind his usual intense demeanor this time around. A hint of sadness, a slight distraction. Not that she could blame him – she'd been feeling that way, too.

JJ still couldn't quite wrap her mind around the events that had just occurred in Fredricksburg. Hotch had been right initially when he'd guessed that she was upset over how close the victims in this case had been to her, both in age and in looks. But now she had a hard time getting the image of both Stephen Foley and Charlie Wilkinson out of her mind. Two sons, both sharing the same cruel, horrific father. One, Stephen, had turned out fine overall. He struggled a bit, sure, knowing his father's legacy, but he was a good, upstanding man. Charlie, on the other hand, turned out just like his father, in every way imaginable. _How does that happen?_ JJ kept asking herself. Classic case of "nurture versus nature", as Reid would've put it.

She also thought of Chrissy and Mary standing there in the field, sharing that knowing glance, as Charlie lay dead a few feet away. The cycle had continued. Would Chrissy tell _her _child the truth someday, or was she fated to have the kid find out in his or her own tragic way?

Yet another more unnerving question nagged at her mind as well. If she ever were to have a baby, if she ever found herself in that situation, would she do something similar? Given that she'd just recently proven she was willing to shoot someone who'd hurt her close _friend _Penelope…she sensed that told her the answer right there.

A few minutes later, Hotch was coming down the stairs. Sighing, JJ shook herself out of her thoughts. She listened to her friends chatting about going out for drinks, saw Hotch relax a little as he agreed to join them.

Everyone was stopped cold, though, when a man came to the door and handed Hotch some papers to sign. Divorce papers, he soon informed the rest of the team.

JJ saw that intense look return to her boss's face. He was thinking of his son, she realized, was already figuring out how to make sure Jack would get through this tough time okay.

She hoped Jack would know just what an amazing father he had.

* * *

Hotch had been sitting at his desk in his ever-darkening home office for the past two hours. He gazed out the window, not noticing anything in particular. Just staring.

He knew it was silly to feel the way he currently did. He knew, intellectually, that his team would understand, would support him no matter what happened.

But Hotch couldn't help but feel embarrassed regardless. Of all the places for the papers to be delivered, it _had_ to be at his workplace. Right in front of everyone, no less. It felt like an invasion of privacy – it _was _an invasion of privacy.

It didn't bother him that the team found out about his divorce in and of itself. He'd already told Morgan Haley had left a while back, after all, so it was only a matter of time until the rest of them knew, if they didn't already suspect.

No, what bothered him was the thought of his team seeing the potentially ugly details play out in public. That was something he'd promised himself he'd keep hidden. He was the sort of guy who prided himself on being in control. Keeping his emotions in check. Being able to solve any problem that came his way as quickly as possible.

But this? He didn't want his colleagues worried about his problems. Lord knows they each had enough of their own issues to deal with. And that overriding nasty thought kept nagging at him - he secretly had to wonder how this would make him look to everyone else. What if they really _did_ lose respect for him, stop taking him seriously? What if the stress _did_ become too much, and he could no longer be the leader they needed? He couldn't keep his own family together because of the day to day pressures. If he couldn't do that for his immediate family, what did that mean for his work family?

Speaking of his immediate family, Hotch found he still had no idea how he'd even begin to properly discuss this with Jack. He'd put off thinking about that possible situation, holding out hope that Haley would eventually come back. Now it was clear that wasn't going to happen, and he wasn't sure what all she had told Jack thus far. Hotch made a mental note to talk about the subject with her a bit further the next chance they got. Give them both a chance to figure out just what they wanted, and needed, to tell their son.

Hotch had turned his gaze from the window by then. Stretching, he went to stand up, only to find one of Jack's superhero toys lying on the floor near his desk. As he picked the toy up and looked at it, he realized then that he was going to have that talk with him about superheroes being human much sooner than he'd imagined.

_"Courage is doing what you're afraid to do. There can be no courage unless you're scared." - Edward Vernon Rickenbacker_


	4. Bloodline

**CHAPTER 4: Bloodline** _(Season 4, episode 13)_

**Character(s):** Prentiss, Todd

**A/N:** Again, more spoilers for this episode, as well as references to the episodes "Normal" and "52 Pickup".

* * *

_"If you want others to be happy, practice compassion. If you want to be happy, practice compassion." - Dalai Lama_

"Brothers…" Jordan Todd shook her head slowly, the disbelief still evident on her face. "He had _brothers_." She leaned back in her seat, staring out the window of the jet.

Emily Prentiss nodded in agreement. "I know," she said, letting out a heavy sigh.

"You know what I couldn't help wondering?" Jordan continued after a moment, her voice quieter. Emily furrowed her brow and tilted her head questioningly.

"Okay, so these women were kidnapped and then went on to have sons, right?"

A small nod.

"Well…what would've happened if they had daughters instead?"

Emily's eyes went slightly wide as she contemplated this. "I don't know," she said finally after an uncomfortable moment of silence. "I don't think I _want_ to know."

Jordan shook her head again. "I honestly don't know how you guys do this job every day."

"You work in counterterrorism," Emily pointed out. "That job isn't exactly sunshine and flowers, either."

"Yeah, but…I just…the kids. I still can't get the images of the Hill children from that 'road warrior' case out of my mind." She shuddered as the horrific memories came flooding back.

Emily's mouth set in a grim line. "Cases involving children are always the toughest."

"But you were able to be _sympathetic_ towards Kathy. The crime photos – you didn't blink –"

"Kathy had been controlled by her husband for years," Emily cut in. "What she did was wrong, yes, but she didn't really know better."

"You were much kinder towards her than I think I might have been."

"Jordan." Emily's tone caused Jordan to look directly at her teammate. "Don't beat yourself up over this. It's good that you care so much. We get caught up in being professional, but don't confuse that with not caring. We just find our own ways to handle the bad stuff more easily." She looked down at her hands for a moment before continuing. "You were right about the crime photos, though. The rest of the team's made note of my ability to compartmentalize before, too."

Jordan gave Emily a sympathetic look. "I didn't mean to imply that –"

"I know. I know. But I think that's why I do things like talk to Cate or Kathy. It's my way of trying to deal with all of that."

She placed one of her hands on Jordan's. "You _are_ good at what you do. You did a great job filling in these last few weeks. JJ would be proud."

Jordan smiled shyly. "Thanks, Emily."

Just then a small, sudden thump caused Jordan to turn in her seat. She looked across the aisle to see Rossi, sitting in one of the small jet seats. His head had dropped onto his shoulder, his mouth open slightly. His arm was bent out at an awkward angle, and the cup of coffee he'd been drinking was now lying on the floor. Jordan turned back to Emily, and the two of them tried to stifle their giggles at the sight.

"You know, I will say this team is the one thing I'm going to miss when I go back to my old job."

"We'll miss you, too," Emily said. "Especially me. What'll I do if I run into another scuzzball like Viper?" They both immediately broke into laughter at the memory of their encounter with the sleazy pick-up artist. "Seriously, thank you so much again for helping me out with him."

"Thank you for letting me help."

"Anytime. And hey, if you ever want to hang out sometime or something, let us know."

Jordan nodded. "I will."

Warm smiles spread across both women's faces. There was a momentary pause. Then…

"So I gotta say, Hotch kinda scared me a bit when I was watching the two of you in that interrogation with Kathy," Jordan admitted.

Emily laughed. "He was practically yelling right in my _ear_…"

The two of them felt the tension slowly lifting as they continued to chat the rest of the way home.

_"Good friends have a way of bringing out the best in you by their caring and the interest that they take in all you do." - Emily Matthews_

* * *

_As usual, reviews, comments, all that stuff is welcome and appreciated!_


	5. Broken

**CHAPTER 5: Broken** _(Season 8, episode 15)_

**Character(s):** Blake

**A/N:** Brief mention of episode's unsub, end scenes.

* * *

_"Acceptance is the truest kinship with humanity." - G. K. Chesterton _

_Sigh._

_I'm home. _

Alex Blake staggered, almost zombie-like, into her house. Tossed her coat on a nearby chair (she'd hang it up later, she promised herself). Dropped her keys randomly on some end table.

Her movements sped up ever so slightly when she laid eyes on her living room couch. No coffee, no book, no calming music – all she wanted to do right now was just _lay down_.

Alex flopped down on her desired resting spot, stretched out, head comfortably settled on a small pillow. Closing her eyes, moving her fingers to the sides of her head, she began slowly massaging her temples, taking steady breaths all the while.

She desperately needed this, needed to calm herself down right now. Because what she'd seen in Texas – it made her blood boil. And she wasn't normally the type to fly into a rage.

Images of young kids flashed through her mind the whole plane ride home. Kids being strapped down in chairs. Being forced to view things that made them uncomfortable. Locked doors, the kind that one just knew had horrible, dark secrets hidden behind them. The bland, same-y outfits, the kind that made her picture the children following the camp leader in some sort of military march.

And Paul. Poor Paul. The young man full of far too much rage, too much shame. The man who was so caught up in his own retribution, to the point where even his close friend, his former love, couldn't talk him down. Alex made a mental note to try and get in touch with him again soon. She needed to know he was getting the help, care, and love he deserved.

If there was one thing that comforted Alex in the midst of all this insanity, it was knowing that her team was just as horrified by the situation as she was. JJ had witnessed the creepiness at the camp with her, she had among the first to help rescue the children. Alex remembered seeing JJ ushering the kids out, holding them close, muttering soft reassurances to them, seeing to it they made it safely out of that place.

And Hotch? He was _pissed_. She'd hesitated talking to him for a time when he got back from interviewing the prostitute, his fury had been so apparent.

Alex only had the occasional opportunity thus far to see Hotch and JJ in action with their respective sons. But all it took was one moment, or one time when they'd shared some adorable, funny stories about their children, for her to know those kids were getting a lot of love. Those boys could grow up safe in the knowledge that they had parents who would support them no matter what.

The rest of the team seemed to share that general sentiment. Rossi and Morgan had been the ones to finally talk Paul down, to try and reassure him that he was fine the way he was. Rossi even tried to quote the gospel of love to the man. _The Bible can teach good things, too._

Given the sadness in her voice when reporting on the camp, it was pretty obvious how Garcia felt about it all. This case flew in the face of everything she believed about humanity. Garcia, bless her heart, was the sort who would quickly accept and become friends with pretty much anyone. All she ever asked in return was that they be nice to other people. _That doesn't seem _that _difficult a request, does it?_

And Reid always managed to find a way to be sympathetic towards those who were different in some form or another. He sought out any opportunity available to understand them, to see what made them tick (literally so, in this case). His approach often focused more on logic over emotion, sure, but he still knew what was right and just.

Alex felt a smile creeping onto her face as she gradually stopped her massage. Her hands came to rest on her stomach, her body beginning to relax.

She was lucky, she realized. Lucky to have found this team, lucky to be among people who knew the true definition of the word "family".

Alex Blake was proud to call herself a member of the BAU.

_"Having a place to go is a home. Having someone to love is a family. Having both is a blessing." - Donna Hedges_


	6. Coda

**CHAPTER 6: Coda** _(Season 6, episode 16)_

**Character(s):** Reid

**A/N:** Slight episode spoilers within, as per usual. Brief reference to the episode "Catching Out" as well.

* * *

_"You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance." - Franklin P. Jones_

His long, slender fingers traveled across the keys over and over and over again. The slow, melancholy tune floated through the apartment, out the window, a perfect nighttime ballad for any lingering passerby who might hear it. Presuming the music wasn't drowned out by the usual bustling city noise, that is.

Reid had played that piano melody twenty-four times within the past two days. Every time he'd tried to move on to attempting something else, his fingers would inevitably wind up tapping out that same old tune. The music appeared to have a calming effect – the book on migraines Reid had been carrying around with him as of late now rested on the bookshelf. He hadn't looked at it once since returning home from the case in Louisiana.

The case also seemed to help on that front as well. Reid had been so caught up in helping Sammy through all the stress and fear he was dealing with that he didn't have time to focus on all the things that had been bothering him in recent months.

His thoughts began to drift back to the young boy. His strange drawings. His fear of touch. His strict routine. But there was so much more to Sammy than that. His drawings were designed to be clues. His routine made it easier for the team to figure out a timeline. He could play piano, and had even managed to speak. Only a few short words, but still, it was something. Reid had sympathized with his social difficulties, was able to be patient with him, and Sammy in turn trusted Reid and was willing to let him in.

Reid couldn't help worrying about how the boy was dealing with his father's death. Whenever a case didn't turn out exactly the way he wanted it to, Reid always found himself stewing over that a bit. But seeing Sammy reach out to his mother, seeing her embracing her son for what was probably the first time…_that_ memory had lingered with him all the way home. He figured it balanced things out a bit. Reid had been a bit surprised at how much this case seemed to be affecting him, but pleasantly so. It was a nice change of pace.

The team used to often joke about what they referred to as "the Reid effect" – Reid himself had even remarked on it a time or two. For the longest time, children and pets never seemed to warm to him, and vice versa. Perhaps it was his awkwardness, perhaps they could sense the tension, sense the worry over screwing up, upsetting the child or animal somehow.

But then JJ had Henry, and had, to Reid's surprise, chosen to make him the godfather. Her faith in him seemed to be all the push that was needed, apparently. He relished being able to teach his godson basics like the ABCs and 123s, along with other, bigger educational concepts, much to JJ's exasperation and amusement ("Easy on the physics, Reid, he's only a year and a half…"). The two of them would practice magic tricks every chance they got. They'd take walks through the park and go to the zoo together. Henry clearly adored his godfather, and the feeling was definitely mutual. There were times Reid would notice JJ quietly watching the two of them having fun, the pleased smile on her face seeming to say it all.

At the thought of JJ and Henry, a short, old conversation found itself creeping back into Reid's mind:

_"You considering it?"_

_"Considering what?"_

_"Having baby geniuses one day?"_

Emily had posed that last question to him back when JJ was pregnant, and at the time, Reid wasn't sure how to respond, nor did he ever wind up doing so. But were she to ask him now? He felt he could give her a more definitive answer.

"Emily…" he murmured aloud. The mention of his dear friend's name quickly changed his demeanor. He'd been concerned about her of late. She was acting increasingly strange, furtive. Snipping at people. Something was clearly bothering her, but Reid wasn't quite sure what that something was, or why. _I should set aside a moment to talk with her again. Just the two of us._

Reid blinked, shaking himself out of his now completely jumbled thoughts. He immediately pinched the bridge of his nose. Twinges of pain started to flicker through his head.

After a moment, he glanced at the keyboard. With a deep breath, and his fingers on the keys, the song started up once more.

_"Children make you want to start life over." - Muhammad Ali_


	7. Compulsion

**CHAPTER 7: Compulsion** _(Season 1, episode 2)_

**Character(s):** Gideon

**A/N:** Spoilers for the case, mention of the unsub. And mention of Gideon's encounter with an unsub both in this episode and the one preceeding it ("Extreme Aggressor"). Rather brief, this chapter, but hopefully it captures Gideon's thoughts well enough.

Also, meant to say this before, but I would like to thank everyone who's commented/favorited/followed this series thus far. It's greatly appreciated, and I'm glad you're all liking this little series!

* * *

_"By learning you will teach, by teaching you will learn." - Latin Proverb_

Sometimes I think, if I were to tell about some of the unsubs I've dealt with, their motivations and methods, people would think I really _had_ gone completely mad.

Such a strange case. A person intentionally starting fires at a school, that isn't so unusual in and of itself. But using fixed, repetitive patterns to plan the fires? Using religion, talking about "saving" people? Very odd. What is it about religion that makes people think they can do whatever they want?

Everyone else is asleep. They look exhausted. Who could blame them? They threw themselves right into their work. So quick to throw out theories – I loved seeing the team so focused, loved watching them work together. It was, for lack of a better word, exciting. Even more remarkable considering how tough certain aspects of this case were.

Morgan had to put himself in the unsub's shoes, had to go to some dark places. I know firsthand that's never easy to do. Hotch had to talk Clara down. Had to think fast, be quick on his feet, hope that what he was saying would spare us further victims.

It made sense that Reid would notice Clara's OCD. When one grows up feeling unusual themselves, it becomes easier to spot odd behaviors, quirks, in others.

And Elle. So tough, so determined. I knew my outright refusal to tell her about the Footpath Killer's stutter drove her nuts. She's never more motivated than when she's given a challenge, is denied the easy answer or solution. It was a riddle for her to solve, and she succeeded.

The killer wanted to know the answer, too. Such a frustrated, tense man. I wonder if he managed to figure it out before…

Was I crazy to taunt him, knowing he had a gun to my head? Perhaps. But I needed to do it. I needed to know I could still get into people's minds, make them unknowingly reveal themselves. I needed to know I could still do my job.

_Do not think about him anymore. Do not let your mind wander to troubled places. You can't afford to go back there again. Neither can everybody else. These people are young. There's still so much to teach them, still so much they want to prove to the world. _

I was that way once. And I'll be damned if I let what happened to me happen to them.

_"Energy and persistence conquer all things." - Benjamin Franklin_


	8. Conflicted

**CHAPTER 8: Conflicted** _(Season 4, episode 20)_

**Character(s):** Reid, Amanda

**A/N:** Spoilers regarding Amanda and Adam. The conversation snippets between Reid and Amanda in the middle of the story, as well as the quote from Morgan at the beginning, are courtesy of the episode's writer, Rick Dunkle. References to specific unsubs from the episodes "Elephant's Memory", "Revelations", and "Sex, Birth, Death" as well.

As for other things, the beginning with Reid heading to see Amanda? Total guesswork on my part as to how he got there, obviously. Also, there will be a switch in viewpoint halfway through the story, too, but I've made sure to divide the two viewpoints with a line break, so it shouldn't be confusing to any readers here (hopefully).

* * *

_"There are two things a person should never be angry at, what they can help, and what they cannot." - Plato_

_"Kid. You're gonna have to accept the fact that sometimes we can't save everyone."_

"Shut up, Morgan," I muttered, gripping the steering wheel. I took a quick glance down at the piece of paper again, making sure the address was right, before turning my attention back to the road.

Morgan's voice refused to leave my head, though. _"We can't save everyone."_ That sentence was now on my list of phrases and questions I had grown tired of hearing over the years (other examples being, "_How_ old are you?" "Can you really read _that_ fast?" "Are you sure about this?" "Why do you know that?").

Couldn't save Adam. Shouldn't have "kept score", as Hotch had put it, with Owen Savage. Don't feel so guilty about Tobias Hankel. I could trace variations on Morgan's statement as far back as Nathan Harris. He and Garcia had both commented on my behavior on that case. They'd told me to ease up, that it wasn't my job to look out for Nathan.

Whose job _is_ it, then? What's the point of any of this, if not to try and help people? Adam – or rather, Amanda – had held a knife to her own throat. In the blink of an eye Adam seemed to disappear altogether. Maybe if he had found another way to hide, even, I could accept it more easily. But this…

I told Adam at one point that I'd seen a lot of bad things. Clearly he had seen his share, too. And just as I'd needed help to deal with my problems, Adam needed help for his. He deserved another chance.

I slowed my speed as I finally came upon a tall, grey building. One more glance at the paper. This was the place.

Once inside, I was ushered to a small room, where I met Dr. Roberts. She set up for the interview, camera at the ready, the lighting darkened, probably to protect Amanda's identity.

Soon, Amanda entered, sat down, began talking. I waited quietly in a corner for a few moments, listening to her speak to Dr. Roberts. She was so focused on the psychiatrist, I almost wondered if she'd forgotten I was visiting.

"And I think the better question would be, what are _you_ looking for…Dr. Reid?"

Apparently not.

* * *

_Puff. _The cigarette smoke lingered near my nose. It smelled wonderful. I felt relaxed already.

"I think you know what I'm looking for." His voice was controlled, quiet. I took a drag on my cigarette. Getting right to the point, I see.

It was sorta funny the way he appeared from the shadows. Almost seemed like something straight out of one of them old detective movies. I squinted, gave Dr. Reid a once over as he stepped into view. Tall, thin…"lanky", as they'd say. Long, scraggly hair. Oddly big mouth. Hard to picture someone like him in the FBI.

I wasn't going to let him in so easy. Had to make him tell me what he wanted.

"I am looking for Adam," Dr. Reid said slowly.

It was going to be a _long_ evening.

I knew Adam's story so well I could recite it in my sleep. Didn't take his mother's death well, no. Breezed through the talk about his father's abuse, about the blackouts (_puff, puff.._). Yes, Adam was horrified by the murders. _Puff, puff, puff… _

And no, I don't feel guilty about anything that happened in the past week. Adam's father deserved what he got. So did those men. And Julie? She was getting in the way. Such a nosy girl.

I could see why Adam was willing to talk to this strange young man, though. Something about his eyes. They were dark, penetrating…but trusting. Such intense focus, too - actually seemed to listen to what I had to say. Didn't yell or interrupt. Just let me tell my story, occasionally jumping in with a question.

_Puff..._

Eventually, it was all over. For today, anyway. Dr. Reid was going to come back and talk to me some more, apparently. Had anyone else promised such a thing I would've laughed, but he seemed to mean it. He said he'd keep coming back until he "found Adam". Didn't seem fazed when I told him it'd be a long wait.

One last look at those eyes. I couldn't help but feel a little bad for the doctor. He looked a bit sad, frustrated. Still determined, though. How silly. I knew he wasn't that smart.

Adam wasn't coming back. He _needed_ to stay safe. _I _had to keep him safe. Sooner or later, Dr. Reid would truly understand that.

I had to admit, though…it was kinda nice knowing someone else cared about him.

_"Wherever a man turns he can find someone who needs him." - Albert Schweitzer_

* * *

_As always, appreciate reviews/criticism, etc.!_


	9. Corazon

**CHAPTER 9: Corazon** _(Season 6, episode 12)_

**Character(s):** Reid, Morgan

**A/N: **So it was pointed out to me recently that the bit on this site where you list the characters that appear in the story you write might, in my particular case, be worth changing. I'd originally planned to just mention four (the maximum amount you can list) characters that would show up the most in this series, but when people get notifications it only shows two of them, and…yeah. If they're not in the chapter it's confusing :p. So from here on out the character list will change according to each chapter. Hopefully that makes sense. Again, certain people will show up a LOT, as it seems they're the focus of most of these episodes, but everyone _will_ be in here and featured more than once. Thanks to my friend **little purple butterflies** for bringing the issue to my attention.

Also, to **Daisy312**, for some reason, I'm unable to reply to your comments, so I'll just say "thank you" here-I'm glad you liked the chapters, particularly the last one! Amanda's point of view was fun to write. And much thanks again to everyone who's commented on the series thus far. It's so good to hear your thoughts.

Okay. Now I'll shut up and get on with the story.

* * *

_"When the head aches, all the body is the worse." - English Proverb_

Spencer winced, his eyes squinting, as the car door slammed shut. His fingers instinctively reached towards the center of his forehead. Even though night had long ago fallen, he began to dig around for his sunglasses anyway. He'd just thrown them on when he heard the driver's side door close, saw Derek start the car up.

The ride was silent for a few moments. Derek's arms were tensed, his mouth set in a firm line. Then, quietly, almost dangerously, he asked, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

"…sorry?" Spencer replied. Derek wasn't sure if the innocence in his friend's voice or question was genuine.

"What were you doing at that house?" Derek's tone remained low.

A shrug. "I was investigating the case like you told me –"

"Oh, don't give me that." Tapping a hand quickly against the steering wheel, Derek gave an exasperated roll of his head. "You said you were going to take a look around the professor's room."

"And I did. I saw a photo of a house next door, remembered Rossi's words about the unsub attacking people in their homes, and I went to check it out."

"By yourself?" Derek asked disbelievingly. "You could've been hurt, Reid."

"Well, I wasn't."

_One…two…three…_ "Not _this_ time, no. But need I remind you what's happened the _other_ times you've gone off by yourself?" He cast a pointed glance in Spencer's direction.

Spencer sat quietly for a moment. "I get it, Morgan…"

"No, I don't think you do."

"_Yes_, I do, I get it!"

"Then why does this keep happening, Reid? Huh? _Why_ do you keep finding yourself in these situations?"

"I don't know, okay? It just happens." By now Spencer's elbow was resting against the window, his hand fanning out across the top of his forehead in general. It was like the pain wanted to engulf every inch of him. "And I'm probably going to get a lecture from Hotch about this when we get back, so you can save your breath, all right?"

Derek simply shook his head, letting out a frustrated huff. He tried to stay focused on the road, but his eyes kept darting over to Spencer, watching him shift about uncomfortably. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," Spencer murmured, thankful the sunglasses kept Derek from seeing his eyes shut tight.

"You've been distracted and rubbing at your forehead almost the entire time we've been here, kid."

"It's nothing, really. I'm just a bit tired, that's all."

"Does this have something to do with what Ruiz said at one point?" Derek's voice had softened now. "C'mon, man, you can tell me…"

"Morgan, I appreciate the concern, but will you just drop it, please?" Spencer snapped, stifling a groan as he did so. He now felt like his head was caught in a giant clamp, its grip tightening. He buried his face in the crook of his arm, in a hopeful attempt to sleep off the throbbing pain. Derek took the hint, as nothing more was said between the two of them all the way back to the hotel.

Upon arriving, Spencer snuck a glance in his boss' direction. Aaron took one look at him, saw the pained look on his face, and merely nodded "good night" in his direction. Spencer tried to shoot an apologetic smile towards Aaron, before quickly turning and heading straight into the hotel, directly towards his room.

* * *

Spencer lay awake. For how long exactly, he didn't know.

The others were starting to suspect now. Though, granted, he hadn't been hiding his problem all that well. But it was obvious that he was clearly going to have to do something, find a way to deal with this. Course, in order to do that, he'd have to figure out what exactly lead to "this" to begin with.

He thought back to what Ruiz had told him. What if the guy had been right? What if the "ghosts" of this job _had_ been haunting him? Oddly enough, that seemed to be the easiest, most reassuring explanation.

_Of course, the best solution in that case would be to quit my job. And why would the "ghosts" affect _me_ like this, and nobody else?_ _And why now?_

_No,_ Spencer realized dismally. _It's something else._ He sighed as he continued to try and rack his brain for other options.

_JJ left us a while back. It hasn't been the same without her. _

_Possibility of a brain tumor. _

_And then of course there's…_

Spencer nearly let out a bitter laugh. He could accept the thought of a brain tumor, but stopped at schizophrenia? _That's a strange place to find yourself._

He officially hated this guessing game.

Moving to get more comfortable, as well as to avoid the soft moonlight that was shining through the curtains, Spencer rolled over on his side. 4:10 am. That didn't bother him too much. He could catch up on sleep on the plane.

But being on the plane meant he'd soon be home. It meant another doctor visit. This time, there would (hopefully?) be no more guessing games about the cause of his headaches.

_To know or not to know, that is the question._

Spencer shifted almost entirely onto his stomach. He closed his eyes, pressing the cool, soft pillow against his forehead.

_"In a disordered mind, as in a disordered body, soundness of health is impossible." - Cicero_


	10. Damaged

**CHAPTER 10: Damaged** _(Season 3, episode 14)_

**Character(s):** Rossi. And a brief appearance from Kevin Lynch!

**A/N:** I LOVE Rossi in this episode. That is all.

* * *

_"One need not be a chamber to be haunted; one need not be a house;_

_The brain has corridors surpassing material place." - Emily Dickinson, __Time and Eternity_

Twenty years. Time really did fly, didn't it?

And yet Dave Rossi could still remember that warm spring morning. The sun shining, the sky a brilliant blue, any traces of snow and slush having disappeared weeks ago. The kind of day that coaxed the cooped up to start venturing outside.

It was one of those days where Mother Nature clearly did not get the memo about the weather she was supposed to provide. _Can't you hear them screaming? Don't you know what happened in there?_

He remembered neighbors poking their heads out their windows, wandering down the sidewalk, gazing at the scene before them. Two men, clearly official-looking, walking across the yard to the front door of the house. Fretting and discussing theories as to who was doing the screaming, and why.

Rossi wanted to turn around and tell every last one of the gawkers just where they could all go and what they could all do right at that moment. Instead, he chose to trudge towards the home, towards the frightened children, towards the sights and sounds that would haunt his dreams for years to come.

He'd just finished up dealing with a serial rapist. A crime as horrific as they come. When the detective had asked him to stop by this place, he agreed. He could handle the last case, after all, this wouldn't be any different.

But then Rossi entered the home.

Two young girls headed into the living room. The older one's pajamas were covered in blood, and she was crying and screaming. The little (very little - couldn't have been more than three, four years old) girl was crying, too, but in her case, it was only because everyone else was upset. She was - thankfully, Rossi couldn't help but think - too young to truly understand what was going on. Somewhere, a little boy shouted for help. The detective immediately took over, trying to collect all the children together, setting the girls on the couch and searching for the boy.

It was then that Rossi excused himself to the kitchen. He leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and tried to collect himself, tried to control the increasingly sick feeling building in his stomach. Normally in situations like this he would've sent a prayer up to God for all involved, but at that moment, he didn't feel God really deserved...well, _anything_.

The rest of the day proceeded in typical fashion. Crime scene investigators poked around the home, the bodies were inspected and soon removed, the bloody (_so, so much blood_) bedsheets were wrapped up and taken in for evidence. Next of kin were notified and the children were ushered away from the nightmare scene.

Rossi watched and wandered through it all like a zombie. The hours seemed to drag. The investigators either were controlling their own emotions extremely well or had detached themselves from everything hours ago, and their matter-of-fact attitude was driving him insane. He kept wanting to try and contact the grandmother who'd taken the children in, wanted to be with them when the police would inevitably start asking questions. "What did you see?" "What did you do when you woke up?" "Did you hear anything?"

Rossi had long been…"fascinated" would be a poor choice of word, perhaps "curious" fit better…about criminals. What drove them? Why did they choose the specific crimes they committed? Why did they throw in the odd little things like signatures or unique killing methods or strange messages? The moment he was involved in a crime scene, he jumped right into that side of the equation. The situations were tragic for the victims and families, of course, and he felt for them, no question. But the crimes, the behaviors, he was obsessed with wanting to learn more. And if he could stop the sickos in the process, all the better.

This case, though, was a nice, hard slap in the face. A reminder that focusing on those criminals led one dangerously close to glorifying them, and all the while the victims fell by the wayside. This case, Rossi knew, had kickstarted the internal debate that he still wrestled with to this very day. It was what he thought about anytime he went to write a book. It was hidden in the advice he gave his team members during some of their tougher cases, so they didn't make the same foolish mistakes he had.

It was the main reason he'd returned to the BAU.

Strange to think it was all over now, just like that. The case was officially solved. Rossi had to keep reminding himself of that fact the whole way home, it seemed so unreal. But he couldn't have asked for a better, more hopeful ending, and he was excited at the thought of hearing from the kids (they would always be kids in his mind) again.

Rossi then looked over at the three people who'd crashed his investigation. Derek Morgan, listening to his music, as usual. Jennifer Jareau, skimming papers, writing down random notes. Emily Prentiss, leaning back against her seat, eyes closed.

He couldn't believe they'd come down. He couldn't believe Garcia had told them about the case!

Well, actually, come to think of it, he could. Rossi may not have been with the team very long, but he really should have known better. Garcia tended to ramble. A lot. It didn't take a profiler to realize that she probably wasn't the first person you'd turn to in order to keep a secret.

The poor thing had meant well, though. As had his team. They'd only done what they did out of concern for him. He knew that now.

Hotch's words from when Rossi first returned were proven right. Things really _had _changed since he'd last been in the FBI.

"You want something, Rossi?"

Rossi's eyes finally connected with those of Morgan, who had pulled away one side of his headphones, an expectant look on his face. Emily and JJ now also looked on, their faces curious.

"…I was just…thinking. About today." His gaze traveled back and forth between the other three, his mouth slowly curling up into a small smile. "Thanks."

Morgan gave a slight shrug. "Anytime, Rossi," he said simply. Emily and JJ merely sent slight nods and smiles in response.

With that, everyone resumed their typical activities. Rossi decided to copy Emily, relishing the fact that this time, he could actually possibly sleep peacefully.

* * *

Rossi found himself sitting in his office listening to the ramblings of Kevin Lynch.

"It's _her _apartment, Agent Rossi, and you can't just – just barge in there unexpected. We were spending time together outside the office. That's perfectly legal. We are adults, and we like each other, and we want to date each other. And if that's a problem for the brass, then…then…"

"Kevin."

The analyst stopped his pacing and turned to stare at Rossi, who hesitated slightly before continuing.

"I'd be throwing stones if I were to complain about you two. Believe me. I won't say anything to Strauss. Or the director." He stood up. "And you're right about coming to Garcia's place. I should've announced I was stopping by."

Kevin let out a huge sigh of relief. "Thank you, sir." He held his hand out, Rossi accepting it in a firm handshake.

"I appreciate you being honest with me."

"Anytime, sir." The two men bowed slightly towards each other, before Kevin turned to head out the door.

Rossi smiled and shook his head. Garcia _would_ pick someone like Kevin. But they seemed right together. He liked the guy.

Before leaving, Rossi made a mental note to buy some flowers, with an apology note attached, for Garcia.

_"The family is a haven in a heartless world." - Attributed to Christopher Lasch_

* * *

_Reviews/critiques welcome and appreciated, as always!_


	11. Demonology

**CHAPTER 11: Demonology** _(Season 4, episode 17)_

**Character(s):** Prentiss

**A/N:** Brief mention of the unsub, bits and pieces about the case itself. Also, there is a song by The The (seriously, that's their name) called "Love is Stronger than Death". I was listening to it at one point while working on this chapter, and it seemed to fit perfectly. So if you're so inclined, feel free to check it out. It's dark and sad, but oddly uplifting, too.

* * *

_"Guilt is the source of sorrows, the avenging fiend that follows us behind with whips and stings." - Nicholas Rowe_

_Swish, swish, kick. Swish, swish, kick._

My eyes were peeled to the ground as I dusted fluffy piles of snow off various headstones, stopping to look more closely at the names. I knew I was in the right section of the cemetery, but I couldn't quite remember which spot I was specifically looking for.

A gust of bitterly cold wind blew by, and I wrapped my arms tighter against my body. I found myself smirking at the thought that, had Morgan come along like he wanted to, he would've offered me his coat, despite the fact I was already wearing one.

He had offered to drive me to the cemetery today. For support, he said, though I think it was also to ease his guilt after things had become so tense between us recently. But I declined. I wasn't mad at him anymore. It's just that this was something I had to do alone. Wanted to do alone.

Cemeteries always bothered me. Not so much because they were creepy, though they are indeed that. But the idea of someone's body just rotting away underneath the ground, all alone…it always unsettled me a little. These headstones telling people where someone is resting…eventually they'll be nothing but dust, so you just have a stone over an empty lot. Very strange.

And what if someone wasn't really dead? Ultimately the big reason I preferred the idea of cremation.

I shuddered. Another reason I hated cemeteries. They make you think about what your own death will be like.

After a few more moments of searching, I came across a small wreath sitting atop a patch of land. In the center was a photo. As I got closer, I noticed the photo was laminated, in an attempt to shield it from nasty weather such as today's. It featured a smiling young man, dark hair highlighting his features nicely.

It was him. _Matthew._

A small ache ran through me as I crouched to look at the picture. That sweet, slightly mischievous grin. Those warm, trusting eyes. I'd almost forgotten how good-looking he was.

I brushed away as much snow as I could before properly sitting down cross-legged, facing the smooth grey plaque.

"Hi, Matthew." I closed my eyes for a moment before continuing. "It's me. Emily."

I began picking at the hem of my coat. "I just came to – to see where you were. I wanted to tell you that we got the guy who did this to you. We got Silvano."

Silence. Eerie, chilly (literally and figuratively) silence. I kept going.

"It sounds like you fought like hell – pun not intended." My eyes fixated on the tree nearby.

"You always were quite good at that, fighting back. I think you would've hit it off with this friend of mine, actually, Derek Morgan. He's a fighter, too. And he questions _everything_. He kept telling me to calm down and stay rational about this case. But, you know, I was angry, so I kinda got into it with him a little bit as a result. Which shouldn't come as a shock to you," I let out a small, half-hearted chuckle.

"He was right, though." _Not that I'd ever actually admit that to him. _"I needed that reminder. I nearly blew it for us a couple times."_ But I'm still not sorry about what I said to the people we interviewed._

"And Rossi – he's another good friend of mine – actually went over the state department's heads. He convinced my boss to work with the Italian government, if you can believe that. That's how we got Silvano." I straightened up a little, almost beaming.

"You would've liked Rossi, too. He was incredibly supportive. He listened to me when I talked about the connections, he actually went to talk to the priest of his own church for advice, he urged me not to give up the investigation." I grew quiet for a moment before speaking again, this time barely above a whisper.

"I told him about what happened to me back when I was fifteen. I told him about you helping me through that. He didn't judge or anything, he just let me talk." A pause. "Like you did."

_Calmed me down when I freaked out at the idea of being pregnant. Let me rant about John abandoning me, let me cry as I worried about what my mom would say. Shielded me from the small crowd of people standing nearby and shouting as we entered the clinic. "Just ignore them." Stayed with me in the aftermath, checked up on me, kept my secret all these years._

"You saved my life, you know."_ And yet I wasn't there to save yours._

"I also told Rossi about how you stood up to the priest at church that one time. Another thing you would've had in common with him and Morgan."

I scanned the cemetery briefly. In a far off corner, an elderly woman was heading towards a grave that, from the looks of the decorations, seemed to be for a soldier. I sighed as I turned my focus back to "Matthew".

"Morgan said at one point that he believed there are evil acts, not evil people. Hotch – that's my boss - says we're all capable of doing horrible things."

I took a second, trying to make sure the thoughts in my head were making sense.

"Me? I don't know what to think. I've certainly seen enough horror at work that could be described as 'evil'. Silvano took you away for no good reason. That seems evil to me." And so began the fingernail picking.

"Your parents were in the room when you..." Deep breath. "I talked to them. I know, I know, big mistake, you tell me." I briefly smiled down at the headstone before frowning once more. "I know they loved you, but…how does a parent stand back and watch that happen? That, I can't understand." Flakes of snow drifted from my hair as my head shook noticeably.

"I don't know if your parents thought I was evil, but they certainly didn't like me. They thought I'd messed up your life," I scoffed, before biting my lip. That old nagging voice came back. Were they wrong? After all, if I hadn't told him about what happened, if he hadn't helped me…if my mom had been located somewhere else entirely…

The tears slowly started to fall now. I made a lame attempt to brush a couple away before pressing a hand against the grave, letting my other hand bury itself in between my arm and waist.

"I'm _sorry_, Matthew. I'm so, _so_ sorry. I'm sorry that I didn't keep in touch. I'm sorry that I wasn't there to help you. I'm sorry if I did screw up your life. I – I…" A small gasp escaped as I lowered my head, finally letting out the sobs that had been building for the last few days.

I needed to get out of there. I took a moment to try and collect myself, return my breathing to something of a normal state, try and calm down enough to be able to drive back home.

My hand brushed over the letters on the grave as I committed them to memory.

"I love you so much, Matthew. I always have. I hope you knew that." Choking back one more sob. "And thank you. For everything."

I lightly patted the granite stone before finally getting up, dusting the snow off my coat as I did so. Turning to walk back to the warmth of my car, I took one last glance at Matthew's resting place.

Tomorrow I'll tell Hotch I want to take some personal time.

_"Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal." – Unknown_


	12. Derailed

**CHAPTER 12: Derailed** _(Season 1, episode 9)_

**Character(s):** Greenaway, Reid

**A/N:** Reference to the episode "L.D.S.K.", and usual spoilers for this particular episode, particularly in relation to the unsub and the ending, as well. Dialogue quotes courtesy of the episode writer, Jeff Davis.

Mild swearing, hence the change in rating. And to clear up potential confusion, scenes in Elle's portion of the story will be divided up by a series of "OOOO"s, but when the actual POV switches over to Reid, there will be a proper line break once again.

* * *

_"We must all hang together or most assuredly we shall hang separately." - Benjamin Franklin_

My cheek was stinging from where he hit me. The air in the passenger car was stiflingly hot. I wanted the kid ranting next to me to shut the hell up already. I remained handcuffed to my seat, unable to move very far. I was getting incredibly antsy.

And, oh, yeah, there was a dead body nearby.

I'd been racing through my options, trying to recall my training for moments like this. It felt like I've tried everything so far. I've tried to get the other hostages to remain calm, with varying degrees of luck. Everyone is quite close to losing it, literally and figuratively.

I've also offered myself up for more beatings, to no avail. And of course, I've tried talking patiently, ever so patiently, to Ted, the man currently holding us hostage. But all he seems to hear and care about are the voices in his head, all he's worried about is the chip he claims is inside him. The only saving grace is the woman caring for him, Dr. Denton. She's talking to him in soothing, motherly tones. And she's the only one he seems to trust right now.

I can't help but notice the bitter irony. Ted's sitting here ranting, insistent that the government is watching him. In this case, he's actually right. And they're closer than he realizes. My team is _right outside_, and for once, I wish they'd just screw the damn protocol and storm in here already.

My wish is partially granted moments later as someone enters the train.

"Hello, everyone." The voice is low, quiet, slightly pitchy. I don't need to look at who's talking. I know that voice.

_They sent Reid in? Really? _And he's unarmed. Fantastic.

The sound of Velcro and a vest sliding off finally makes me turn around. _No! What is he doing?_

My eyes follow Reid as he comes over to sit in front of Ted, whose gun is pointed at him the whole time. _Be careful, Reid. Please._

**OOOO**

I gotta admit, I'm impressed. Reid's managed to strike up quite the rapport with Ted. He's sympathetic, chatty, playing along with Ted's delusions. Right now he and Ted are talking about Ted's "implanted chip" the way two people would talk about the weather.

Which makes it all the more amazing when Reid actually manages to produce a real live "chip". From where, I don't know, but it seems to placate Ted for a moment. Until he insists the chip be turned on and oh, give me a fucking break already with this.

He's getting agitated at Reid's insistence that the chip won't work. I can see the wheels in Reid's head spinning as he looks for an explanation. I can't stand this – I have to jump in.

"Because it has to be implanted."

A flash of something…gratitude? Surprise?...flickers through Reid's eyes momentarily upon hearing my response. Ted looks confused, but hey, so long as he's not waving that gun around, I won't complain.

Unfortunately, though, a phone soon starts ringing. And ringing. And ringing. And ringing. _Dear god, somebody please make it stop already…_

That damned kid's rant starts up again. As does the chaos.

**OOOO**

Dr. Denton's been shot. And the phone is ringing. _Again. _

I start talking again. Whether it's to drown out the noise or because I need to do my job, I'm not even sure anymore. "Ted? No one else on this train is an agent but me," I insist. I'll be damned if Reid goes down with me. "I'm the only one, you can let everyone else go."

Reid takes that moment to make a plea to Ted to get Denton some help. Ted's response is to stand up, raise his gun, and point it at the phone.

It stops ringing. Well. That was helpful. Much as I hated that noise, I'm completely and totally terrified now. _He's giving up._

"Dr. Bryar?" Reid's voice pipes up again.

Ted spins and points his gun right at him, and my heart drops. "Reid!"

Reid makes a "settle down" motion with his hand towards me. And just like that, he's suddenly calm, cool, and collected, talking to Ted as if nothing scary is going on. He can see this Leo, he knows the guy's just trying to trick Ted. He's so convincing that even _I'm_ starting to believe him – the guy would make one heck of an actor.

Somehow the subject changes to Bryar's studies. Once Reid gets into the topic of string theory I lean in even closer. In any other instance, this is where I would tune him out, but now…now I don't think I should. For once, I'm incredibly thankful to hear Reid rambling away. It's all going quite well – we might just be able to make it.

But then something, or someone catches Ted's attention, and the next thing I know, there's pushing and shoving and people wrestling about. Everyone screams as a shot rings out.

A few moments later I see it. Ted slumped in a seat. Blood staining his shirt, courtesy of a shot fired by one of the other hostages. Reid's hovering over him, weapon in hand, a dazed look on his face. I know he's thinking the same thing I am.

_Did that really just happen?_

**OOOO**

I'm not sure if the opened trunk area of a police car is any more comfortable than a train, but right now, I don't care, I'll take it. Reid's been sitting next to me, pestering me to get checked out. I try to make an appeal to Gideon to get Reid to back off. It doesn't work, though we do get a nice joke out of it, and the laughter feels so good.

I sneak a glance at the scrawny young man sitting next to me. The one who managed to talk down an unsub _and_ wrestle a weapon away from him. It was unreal. As was the next sentence out of my mouth.

"Um, Reid, you probably saved my life in there…"

He smiles bashfully, a lone strand of hair falling in front of his eye. It's cute and driving me nuts all at the same time.

"Probably? I _totally_ saved your life." I resist the urge to raise my eyebrows. _Where the hell'd _that_ come from, Doctor? _I have to admit, I'm quite liking the side of Reid I've seen today.

But just as quickly as it appeared, the confidence is gone, and he's back to being the awkward genius I know. _He understood Bryar…he knows what it's like. _I try and ask him about that. He tosses off an answer, not quite looking at me as he does so.

I'm surprised once again when he rests a hand on my leg, with one more whispered plea to go to the hospital. _Yes, all right already, I hear you, Reid_. I almost want to ask him if he has any suggestions on how to get the echo of that ringing phone out of my head.

Instead, he wanders off. And I'm even more mystified by him.

* * *

They say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over, expecting a different result each time.

This was my second time in a hostage situation. The last time had turned out well (for everyone but Dowd, that is), and for the most part, so did this situation. A security guard unfortunately died, and Ted and his doctor are injured, but everyone else is fine.

Also, I voluntarily went into this situation without a weapon. I took my vest off despite being told not to.

So where exactly does that leave me in regards to the definition?

I can feel my legs shaking. Gideon's in the aisle, breathing a sigh of relief. He begins ushering everyone out, standing in the doorway and signaling for a medic.

My focus is on Elle. Freed of her restraint, she reaches towards me as I help her up. Despite her protests, she lets me lead her out, clutching her left wrist and trembling. Her cheek is still bruised and bloody, and I'm clearly staring far too intensely at her, if her shifting's anything to go by. Upon finding a spot to sit, she pulls back from me, but I can't stop staring, looking her over.

Honestly, while I hate that she had to be part of this, I also don't know how well I would've handled everything without her. She was tough and steady, quick on her feet – I actually almost wanted to hug her for her help with Ted and the chip. She was willing to sacrifice herself to save everyone. If she hadn't knocked him off his balance towards the end, I…I don't know what would've happened.

There's a moment, while we're sitting together on the truck, where I actually manage to crack a few jokes that make her smile. We've gotten on well enough before, Elle and I, but today seems…different. It's like there's new levels of respect between us. I feel like I'm finally starting to be truly comfortable around her.

"You know what you said in there, to Bryar? That…you know what it's like?"

Oops. Well, maybe not _that _comfortable.

My next words come out very carefully. "He was a delusional psychotic. I was merely…playing into his fantasy." Much to my relief, Elle doesn't say anything further. I pat her on the leg – for comfort or thanks, I'm not sure which – and that's the end of that particular conversation.

I think she thinks I was talking about myself. If that's the case, she'd be wrong. Mostly.

But really, it doesn't matter. I really did say all of that stuff to keep Bryar focused and occupied. That was the whole point, right? I had to do my job. I had to profile him, had to learn how to deceive and distract him. Just like with the magic trick. The two activities lend themselves well to one another, really, when you think about it.

Look over here. _Focus on the cards._ Listen to who's talking to you.

_Pick a card. _Pick a voice.

_A swift, barely noticeable shuffle and I've got the card. _

A swift, barely noticeable shuffle and I've got the weapon.

_Is this your card? _Is this why you did it?

And just as a magician never reveals their secrets, neither should a profiler.

_"Magic is believing in yourself, if you can do that, you can make anything happen." - Johann Wolfgang von Goethe_

* * *

_Review/critique away!_


	13. Distress

**CHAPTER 13: Distress** _(Season 2, episode 17)_

**Character(s):** Reid, Prentiss, and Garcia, briefly, at the end.

**A/N:** Once again, must credit certain quoted episode lines in this chapter to their writer – in this case, that would be Oanh Ly. Usual spoiler warnings about the episode as well, regarding the drug storyline, the unsub, and the outcome of the case. And a brief nod to a scene from "Profiler, Profiled" towards the end, too.

This chapter, as well as the next one, are going to be a little more on the lengthy side, it seems. But hopefully they're worthwhile reads for you guys. I'll say it again, thank you, _thank you_, everyone, for your interest in this series, as well as the comments and wonderful chats that have come from it. And immense thanks to **little purple butterflies** for her continued support and always being a source of inspiration and entertaining discussion.

Onward we go!

* * *

_"I have learned now that while those who speak about one's miseries usually hurt, those who keep silence hurt more." - C.S. Lewis _

Spencer Reid blinked a few times, the numbers on his alarm clock slowly coming into focus. It was eight am.

_Oh. Right. I'm supposed to be at work now._ Instead, he simply curled up further underneath his blankets and fell back to sleep.

The next time Reid woke up, it was 9:30 am and his phone was buzzing. He groaned, running a hand over his face and into his hair before reaching towards his nightstand. Picking the phone up, he noticed that he had three new messages, all from some of his teammates. "Where are you?" "Are you okay?" "Hey, Pretty Boy, get your skinny butt in here."

Reid rolled over on his back. Staring at his ceiling, he began weighing his options for the day.

His favorite one was choosing to not go in at all, staying in bed all day instead. He could call and say he was sick. It wouldn't be all that far off from the truth, after all.

But if he did that, then that would mean they'd expect him back at work sometime soon. If not tomorrow, then certainly within the next two or three days. That would mean Reid would have to be "calling in sick" for a good number of days to come as a result. So that plan clearly wasn't going to work very well.

The other option was, of course, just going to work, and coming up with some logical excuse for his lateness. Not what he wanted by a long shot, but he'd make do with it for now until he tried to come up with some other possible solution.

Sighing in exasperation, he forced himself out of bed and began rummaging through his clothes. A glance in his bedroom mirror gave him a quick, nasty reminder of the events of recent weeks. Reid rubbed a hand over his arm self-consciously. No more rolled-up sleeves anytime soon, that was for sure.

* * *

Emily Prentiss did _not_ like what she saw.

She couldn't help staring along with the rest of the team as Reid finally made his way into the conference room. He wordlessly plopped down next to her, no acknowledgement of or apology for his lateness forthcoming. If anyone else was concerned about this situation, they hid it well behind looks of irritation or confusion. Emily, however, made no secret of her worry.

Reid looked _tired_. And not the typical "overworked" sort of tired. He had deep bags under his eyes, he looked paler than usual, and he was starting to look a little gaunt. And his voice – Emily cringed a little as she listened to him talk. He'd always sounded a bit pitchy and squeaky, but now his voice had a hint of croakiness to it. The kind of sound you hear in someone who's either just getting sick or trying to recover from being sick. The kind that made you want to clear your own throat on their behalf.

Emily noticed Reid's coffee cup then, and weirdly, it allowed her a brief sense of relief. _Still the same old Reid in one area, at least._ She noticed his body visibly relax as JJ broke the tense silence by quickly resuming her team briefing, pulling everyone's attention back to her and away from the bizarre spectacle they'd just witnessed. Before she could get the chance to speak to him, though, the team was being ushered out the door, towards the jet that would take them to a new destination.

Once in the air, Emily felt relieved once again as she listened to Reid rattle off information about the case. He seemed fine now. _Maybe he was just having a bad morning?_ Shortly thereafter, everyone began doing their regular sorting of tasks for the investigation. Reid, as always, would handle the geological profile. Emily took that moment to volunteer her aid. _Everyone else will be out doing other things, it'll just be us. Perfect time to talk to him._ Business as usual.

"I can do it."

Emily's head went up in surprise at Reid's response. His voice had been brusque, slightly annoyed, just like it had been in the conference room earlier.

"…I wasn't suggesting that you couldn't." _Did I? I don't _think_ I meant it to come out wrong…_

"Isn't that what, 'I'll help you with that' means?"

_Okay, what the hell?_ Emily noticed some of the other team members staring at Reid as well. _You guys are hearing this, too, right? _She quickly tried to figure out how to respond until Hotch beat her to it, swiftly quieting Reid down and closing the subject. Everyone resumed their own individual activities then, trying to put the recent awkwardness out of their minds.

Emily, on the other hand, secretly kept her gaze on Reid the rest of the flight.

* * *

_PTSD. Haunted by a traumatic incident, reliving that painful experience over and over again. _

Their unsub had that. The profile was starting to prove that loud and clear. He was a former soldier, homeless, possibly had family looking for him. Apparently, he was under the delusion he was still caught up in a war zone, and had been going around killing people he perceived to be the "enemy".

_He was reliving the worst day of his life. He felt alone and scared. _

Reid scratched at his chin again. Man, he wished he hadn't come into work. Right now all he wanted to do was go back to bed and stay there for god knows how long.

Not that he wanted to be in his apartment in and of itself, exactly. If he stayed at home, he'd just be dealing with the same problems he'd been having for weeks now. The daily nightmares, the temptations that stared him in the face whenever he'd pass or enter his bathroom. Plus, there was also the fact that the small space of his apartment was making him feel increasingly claustrophobic.

No, he'd only wished to stay in bed because everywhere else seemed even less appealing. The BAU offices were practically his second home, but even there, he found no solace nowadays. Nobody seemed to notice how much trouble he was in, or if they did, they tiptoed around him as though he were so fragile he'd break the moment they spoke to him. Yes, he'd gotten a little agitated on the plane earlier, but for Christ's sake, his teammates had interviewed unsubs who'd said the most vile things imaginable. Surely they could handle talking to a co-worker who was having a bad day, couldn't they?

And when he was at work, he had to see more gruesome crime scenes, had to hear about more poor souls being tortured and having to endure sadistic mind games, to the point where killing them was almost a merciful act. All any of that did was make Reid think of Hankel and that shed and the cemetery and he wanted so badly to just get out of there when those memories came flooding back.

Reid obviously always wanted to see to it that every case ended on as safe a note as possible, with the unsub talked down without incident, sent away to where they needed to go to get the help (or punishment) they deserved.

But this time, looking at the facts of this case laying out before him, his determination for such an outcome seemed to be just a little bit stronger than usual.

* * *

Spencer Reid had just terrified a woman half to death.

Emily stared, gobsmacked, at her colleague as he talked to the woman running the local homeless shelter. _He may even be in this room as we speak. _Emily could see the poor woman's eyes go wide, her head carefully scanning the room, her body starting to tense as "weird-looking" men wandered in and out of the building.

And just as quickly as Reid rattled off that disturbing bit of information, he was gone, as though nothing incredibly strange had just happened. Emily tried her best to calm the woman down, apologizing over and over, trying to brush the incident off as the FBI simply showing extra caution.

Then she stalked off in search of the man who, at that moment, wasn't exactly living up to his "genius" title, in her opinion.

Luckily, she didn't have to look far. He was standing right outside the shelter, quietly observing the construction, glancing at the passerby. Outburst? What outburst? Everything was just fine as far as he was concerned.

Emily hesitated. This obviously was _not_ her ideal time or place to talk to him, but beggars can't be choosers, and all that. The discussion just couldn't wait.

And yet, as she tried to explain to Reid exactly how reckless his comments to the woman inside were, he didn't seem to understand. Or if he did understand, he apparently didn't care. Emily was a little shocked at just how angry she was quickly becoming towards him.

Finally, she gave up with the explanations. "What is the matter with you?" she simply asked, desperation creeping into her voice.

"What – what do you mean, what's the matter with me?" _No, seriously, I'm genuinely curious. 'Cause if you honestly can't tell, then I think you're in the wrong line of work._ But Reid kept that thought to himself.

"I have never seen you act like this."

"Oh, really, oh, in the - in the _months_ that you've known me you've _never_ seen me act this way? Hey, no offense, Emily, but…you don't really know what you're talking about, do you?"

Yeah, he needed to get out of here. He was tired of talking to people at the moment, he could feel the cravings creeping in, and he really needed to find someplace quiet. Looking into Emily's eyes for a brief moment, Reid also knew he needed to leave before he said something else to her that he'd surely regret later.

He brushed past Emily then, and she stood there, frozen in place. She'd been simply worried up to this point, but now? She was honestly getting scared.

* * *

Reid stood in the bathroom of the police station, splashing cold water over his face.

Why couldn't someone else have taken the call? Why couldn't someone else be the one to give the "I'm sorry" look to the others?

He'd _died_. Roy Woodridge had died. They hadn't been able to save him. They couldn't stop a SWAT member from killing him. The guy was mentally unstable, couldn't the SWAT guy see that?!

_They tried desperately to help him, Reid, you know that. The SWAT guy did what he had to do, it was a tragic accident._

But Reid shrugged away that voice. He was angry, and frustrated, and he frankly wanted to wallow for a while. Didn't help that the cravings were back once again, and were especially strong today to boot, putting him even more on edge. And the vials were all the way back home in Virginia.

_1,402 miles, twenty hours, and sixteen minutes away._ Good to know that part of his brain seemed to still function okay.

* * *

Emily watched Reid once again on the ride home. He was sprawled out on the couch at the back, and he was finally asleep for the moment…but it was clearly an uncomfortable, uneasy sort of sleep.

_Should I tell them? I mean, they clearly have to notice something's off, don't they? They did on the way out here, at least._

Emily kept fumbling with her hands, trying desperately to avoid falling into her usual bad habit with her nails. She knew this was something Hotch and Gideon _especially_ needed to know about. They knew the measures that needed to be taken for situations like this far better than she did, and they could help Reid with whatever was going on. And all would be fine!

Except that she knew it wouldn't be that easy. Those were difficult conversations to have with someone, and Emily couldn't bear the thought of Reid shutting down even further, his anger at his teammates intensifying.

Who was she kidding? She couldn't handle him being angry with _her_. He might see her telling Hotch and Gideon as the behavior of a tattletale, for lack of a better word, and he might feel betrayed (despite the fact there'd never been a pact of confidence made in the first place). And that would bother her deeply. For some reason, she'd come to form something of a connection with the younger agent in the short time she'd been on the team. Maybe it was the fact that she'd finally found a fellow nerd she could bond with. Maybe it was the fact that she knew what it was like to feel out of place, to have difficulty asking for and receiving help. Maybe it was the fact that she understood the kinds of struggles she suspected he was dealing with more than he realized.

Whatever the explanation, all she knew was that she wanted to make sure he came out of this problem all right, her friendship with him fully intact. She wanted her old silly, strange genius back.

Emily allowed a small smile for a moment as she thought back to the day she came to work and saw JJ and Garcia at Reid's desk, hovering over him. He'd been showing off some of what he liked to call his "physics magic".

He'd accidentally beaned her in the head with one of his little rockets, but he apologized profusely, and they laughed it off. She remembered being eager to see his trick, and him obliging her. He had all the excitement of a child, glad to have something that captivated people's attention, relishing the fact that none of them would ever find out the secret behind the trick.

That sweet, innocent boy was still in there somewhere. She was sure of it. And she would see to it that he came back.

* * *

The elevator ride up was quiet. Everyone was exhausted, their minds elsewhere, be it on the recent case (the majority of the team) or current office work (Hotch).

Or perhaps they were focused on the fact that the youngest team member was standing off in a corner of the elevator, arms folded, looking straight ahead, not talking to anyone. If that last issue was on anyone's minds, none of them said anything about it.

The team was greeted by Garcia as they stepped off the elevator. Everyone briefly said their hellos and good-nights, hugs were exchanged, and Garcia tried not to show her confusion and hurt when Reid briefly nodded towards her before quickly heading off in the other direction.

Emily was the last one to see Garcia. "Hi," she said, a tired, relieved smile on her face. _You have no idea how glad I am to see you right now._

"Hi, yourself." Garcia's grin faded as she looked Emily up and down. "You all right?" she asked, her face now full of concern.

Emily shook her head slightly and sighed. She was sure of this: she didn't need, nor want, to burden the ever bubbly Penelope Garcia with her worries. "Just…the case, I guess."

Garcia nodded sympathetically. She remembered how it ended. Not one for wanting to wallow in sadness, she quickly changed the subject. "Hey," she said, her eyes widening, an excited, mischievous look spreading across her face. "Wanna stop by my office quick?"

Emily shrugged. "Sure. What for?"

Garcia began pulling Emily by the arm, hustling her down the hallway. "Oh, just some photoshopped pictures I think you might enjoy seeing…".

_"To pity distress is but human; to relieve it is Godlike." - Horace Mann_

* * *

_I wanted to end on something of an uplifting note, and Morgan and Garcia's conversation in this episode was very helpful :D. Bless those two. Anywho, as always, comment away!_


	14. Doubt

**CHAPTER 14: Doubt** _(Season 3, episode 1)_

**Character(s):** Gideon, Strauss (and Hotch, briefly)

**A/N:** The italicized parts in Gideon's section are flashbacks – the part of this chapter focusing on him goes back and forth between those flashbacks and some of the events in this episode. The first and second flashbacks are inspired by Gideon mentioning in the episode that he met Sarah at college 31 years ago (and the book she recites the title of in the second flashback? Actual book). The third flashback is related to the episode "No Way Out, Part II".

As always, spoilers for the episode, mostly in relation to the ending and the mention of unsubs.

* * *

_"You can fall ill with just a memory." - Paolo Giordano_

She lay completely still. There was no doubt she was dead. Her arms were folded up against her chest, her body was covered in blood, bruises, and cuts. It seemed like it took forever for the investigators to count up all the incisions. One of them shook their head sadly as they poked and prodded her. She was so _young_. Probably not even twenty years old yet. It just wasn't right.

Not long thereafter, six members of the BAU descended upon the campus area. While most of the team went off to take care of other aspects of the case, Morgan and JJ arrived at the crime scene, ready to help with the inspection, Gideon leading the way.

He took one look at the deceased girl's face. Just one look

And it immediately felt like all of his insides crumbled at once.

**ooo**

_Jason Gideon was staring. _

_A gorgeous bird, its wings raven-colored with flecks of forest green, its frontside snow-white, save for its throat, which was a bright, warm shade of red, was settling in in a nearby tree. It hopped from one branch to another, letting its perky chirp echo through the campus._

_Gideon pulled up the binoculars he'd had hanging around his neck, adjusting them to get a closer look._

_"Whatcha looking at?"_

_Gideon jumped with a start, the binoculars nearly falling out of his hands. Gripping them tightly, he lowered them and turned his head._

_A young brunette woman was standing next to the bench, staring down at him with a bemused grin. _

_"I'm sorry, what?" Gideon replied, feeling slightly flustered. _

_"I said, whatcha looking at?" the brunette repeated, moving to sit down next to Gideon. He scooted over a little to give her more room. She pointed at his binoculars for emphasis to her question._

_"Oh…" Gideon glanced down at the object in his hands, as though he'd just now realized it was there. "I, uh, was just admiring this bird up in the tree here." He waved a hand in the general direction of the tree. "It's a ruby-throated hummingbird. Native to this region. Well, there may be some that show up elsewhere for whatever reason, but they're most common here."_

_The girl simply nodded, amused. His babbling was kind of cute. "You like birds, huh?" she finally asked. _

_"Yeah. I'm something of a bird enthusiast." He ducked his head, a tinge of embarrassment on his face. "It's kinda silly, huh?"_

_"No. I don't think so." The sincerity in her voice caused Gideon to look back up. The woman had leaned in a little closer, her eyes showing genuine interest in this curious young man. _

_He shifted so he was facing her a little more easily. "My name is Jason. Jason Gideon." He held his hand out towards her._

_"Sarah Jacobs," she replied, giving him a firm handshake. _

_"Sarah. That's a lovely name."_

**ooo**

_Sarah… Sarah… No. No, wait, this isn't her..._

"Who's not her, sir?"

Gideon suddenly snapped his head up to look at the person who'd spoken to him. It was one of the local police officers, standing next to the latest body they'd discovered. His head tilted, he was peering up at Gideon, a confused look on his face.

"Nobody. Uh…sorry…" Gideon muttered quickly before he turned and walked away.

He definitely needed to focus right now, because things were getting increasingly disturbing. They had a suspect in custody. Nathan Tubbs, one of the campus security guards. They'd gotten him when he was driving around with a young brunette woman – the unsub's type. From the looks of her face when they caught him, he'd apparently freaked her out quite a bit.

He looked _real_ good as a suspect, too. The evidence they'd found screamed "dangerous criminal", and his behavior was questionable at best.

And yet despite these facts, there was a new body. Which meant another unsub was apparently lurking around the campus. Gideon could see the team's dread and frustration as they realized they had to start from scratch all over again.

He also saw their fear. A mob of people was now gathering around the latest crime scene, and they were all shouting and screaming angrily. They had very good reason to be upset, of course, but still, Gideon knew there was nothing he could say to ease the intense guilt and embarrassment he knew the rest of the team was feeling.

Everyone wanted answers and they wanted them now. Unfortunately, Gideon couldn't give people any of that. Not yet. He wouldn't ever be able to at all, either, if he kept completely disappearing into his memories. He also wouldn't be able to keep his team under control, either.

_You have to pull yourself together, Jason. Focus on the case at hand. This is the third time you think you've seen her around here. But she's __**not here**__. Keep insisting or believing otherwise and people will surely think you're crazy, for God's sakes. _

But it was useless. Everywhere Gideon turned, all he could ever see was Sarah. Standing behind the yellow crime scene tape, blending in amongst the onlookers. He saw her face in every young girl that had died on this campus in recent days. He saw the gruesome crime scenes, and his mind automatically went back to…

No. No, he definitely could NOT go there. Seeing her in her normal state is one thing, but that last image of her… He'd vowed to try and block _that_ memory from his mind if it was the last thing he ever did.

**ooo**

_Jason Gideon was sitting in the campus library, his head buried in one of the many books he had spread out across a table. _

_"Don't study too hard," a familiar voice teased. Gideon lifted his head, smiling at the woman who stood before him._

_"Sarah," he said warmly. _

_"Hey, Jason," she replied, a big grin on her face as she leaned forward on the table a little._

_"Please, sit down." Gideon stood, pulling a chair out, and Sarah obliged him. She rested her elbows on the table and scanned the pile of books that covered it. _

_"My goodness. Tough test in a class coming up?"_

_"Not at the moment, no," Gideon answered, his attention now back on the book he was reading._

_Sarah picked up one of the books. "Casebook of a Crime Psychiatrist," she read aloud. She lifted up a couple of the other books and peered at the titles, glanced at the blurbs on the back. "Interested in crime studies, are you?"_

_Gideon looked up again. "Yeah," he said. He paused for a moment. "I've been thinking about what kind of career I want." He looked down at his hands. "I want to be in the FBI."_

_Sarah raised her eyebrows. "Really?" she asked, surprised. _

_"Yes. Apparently they've got this new unit…the BAU."_

_"BAU?"_

_"Behavioral Analysis Unit. They profile criminals. Study their behavior. And I've always been fascinated by human behavior…"_

_Sarah chuckled and nodded. "That you have," she agreed. She remembered how, on some of their dates, the two of them would sit and do some people-watching, Gideon throwing out theories about the passersby. She thought he was doing it just to entertain her, but apparently it went a little deeper than that._

_"Yeah. Anyway, I think this could be a good field for me. I'd be doing something I love, and I'd get to help people as well."_

_Sarah considered this for a moment. "Hm. Well…I think that's great."_

_Now it was Gideon's turn to raise his eyebrows. "Really?"_

_"Yeah. I think it'd be a fascinating job, and, like you said, you can help people. Where's the downside?" She placed a hand on Gideon's lower arm. "I think you can do anything you put your mind to, Jason. And if this is what you want to do, I say go for it. I'll support you." She gently squeezed his arm for emphasis._

_Gideon smiled, putting one of his hands over hers, his thumb softly rubbing her hand. This, right here, was why he loved her. "Thank you." _

**ooo**

Gideon watched in horror as the woman on the screen stabbed herself in the stomach. He saw Morgan and Prentiss immediately dash towards her, saw them try to call for help and keep an eye on both the girl and the man she'd also stabbed, who was laying nearby. Hotch was already up and running out of the room, but Gideon couldn't move at all, other than to merely turn off the computer monitor.

After that, he just sat. "Stunned" seemed too simple a word to describe how he felt right then, and the silence of the small office was positively deafening. But right now, it was all Gideon wanted to hear.

He'd feared this would happen. The woman on the screen was Anna Bagley. She'd been responsible for the murder that happened after they'd put Tubbs in custody. Apparently she idealized Tubbs and wanted to be one of his "victims". _A young girl shouldn't be having fantasies like that._

And now she'd attacked Tubbs as well as herself. Two mentally unstable people colliding in the worst possible way. He knew the profile for situations like this. He had an idea of how this would end. And he and his team let it happen anyway, all because they lost focus.

Finally, some time later, he heard the door open. He glanced over to see Hotch enter the room.

"I'm sorry," Hotch's tone was solemn, heavy. He didn't need to say any more, he didn't even need to say those two words, really. The look on his face was enough to inform Gideon of what happened to Anna and Nathan.

That's when he finally broke. Every trick Gideon had tried to shut _that_ memory out of his brain had officially failed.

Hotch remained standing by the door, unsure of what to do next. He could see from the way Gideon leaned forward, elbows on knees, head slowly sinking into his hands, that the man had now gone into a very, very dark place. He had an idea of just what that dark place was, too.

At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and lend comfort to the man. Gideon had done so much for him over the years, and Hotch admired him more than words could explain. Now that Gideon was in his time of need, and a desperate one at that, Hotch felt he should return the favor, _needed _to return the favor.

And yet, that reaction told Hotch one clear thing: I want to be alone.

So Hotch simply turned around and left. Gideon didn't even hear the door click shut.

**ooo**

_Jason Gideon never wanted to see the color red again._

_Why her? Of all people, God, __**why her**__? _

_How can someone unleash _that_ much blood all at once? Gideon didn't understand. It covered practically the entire room. That was _her_ blood. Now…now it was on horrific display. _

_She lay sprawled out on that bed. Gideon didn't even want to think about what else that…that __**bastard**__…had done to her. If he'd met up with her sooner, if they'd made different plans for the evening…_

_The day had been so uneventful. Gideon had been out buying flowers for her that night. Or trying to, anyway. The man could prepare a lovely meal to woo a lady, but apparently there were some parts of romance he still had yet to master. _

_He'd been talking to Hotch about his flower dilemma. They'd been joking, the two of them, Hotch gently teasing Gideon the way people who've known each other for years do. Such an innocent evening, full of promise and hope and happiness. Maybe if he hadn't spent so much time chatting with Hotch…_

_And then _he'd_ called. Frank Breitkopf. Just like that, he showed up out of nowhere, his voice on the phone sending a deep, bitterly cold chill down Gideon's spine as he listened to the psycho's taunting, merciless voice._

_And Jason Gideon's world would never be the same. _

**ooo**

Gideon took a deep breath, folding up the letter he'd written and placing it inside the envelope.

The second to last act on his list of things to do, the very last being packing everything in the cabin up. Then he'd disappear for good, off to God knows where, in the hopes of starting his life anew.

The letter he held in his hands was directed to one person on the team. Gideon felt a small pang of guilt as a voice in his head told him that he should've left messages for everybody. But he knew Hotch and Morgan in particular would certainly understand what was going on. They were tough, they could take control of their new situation right away once he left. And as for the women – he liked all of them, but JJ was the one he seemed to form the strongest bond with, and whom he knew the best. She'd be sad, but he also knew she would probably handle him leaving fairly well.

No, he wanted a specific person to find this message, and who better to read it than the person whom he'd nurtured? The person whose confidence and abilities he saw blossom, but who also had clearly seen their fair share of intense struggles in a very short time.

Hopefully, this letter would prepare them for such a drastic change, as well as give them some advice going forward. Hopefully, they would understand everything he needed to say. He scrawled their name in big letters across the front of the envelope before setting it aside.

_SPENCER._

* * *

Erin Strauss was in a very, _very_ foul mood.

She didn't like chaos. Not one bit. Chaos lead to bad decisions. Sloppy work. A horrible sense of timing. It lead to confusion over who was the leader and who was the follower, and _that_ lead to lack of respect, which she also hated, probably even more so than the idea of chaos.

No, Erin Strauss was most definitely a woman who preferred to run a tight ship. She loved the idea of organization, of control.

Unfortunately, right now, the members of the BAU were giving her shit in the way of either of those things. Strauss was pretty sure she was wearing a hole in the carpet, with all the pacing and stalking back and forth she'd been doing. She'd been on the phone with the Arizona police, catching up on how the team's latest case had gone, and from what she gathered, it hadn't gone well _at all_. And once she heard about how it ended, that was the final straw. She spent the better part of the day positively _fuming_, all the while silently, and not so silently, screaming at everyone involved in this fuckup, using many colorful words in the process.

How in the hell does one think it's okay to let a deeply unstable young woman meet up with a serial killer? What on God's green earth did Aaron Hotchner _think_ would be the outcome of that? That they'd hold hands and skip off into the sunset together?

But that wasn't the only thing bothering Strauss at that moment. Jason Gideon had become a definite thorn in her side once again as well. He seemed to be showing hints of falling back into troubling behavior lately. He was increasingly anxious, overly antagonistic. Running head on into dangerous situations, without following protocol or weighing all the potential consequences. Strauss vividly remembered what had happened the last time he'd exhibited those signs.

He'd also briefly been under suspicion recently when someone close to him was recently murdered. Of course, Strauss knew that he didn't commit the crime, but still, just the fact that he was even looked at to begin with was, obviously, not good. It was the situation with Agent Morgan in Chicago and Agent Greenaway in Dayton all over again! Strauss sighed in frustration, running a hand through her golden hair. Goddamnit, these people were supposed to _catch_ criminals, not be _mistaken_ for them!

The team dropping the ball big time with this case was just the latest in a string of incidents involving them. _And she knows the details of each and every one of those incidents. I _know_ she does._ _Every last sordid bit._

Strauss gritted her teeth as she thought of the dark-haired woman that was increasingly getting under her skin. When Emily Prentiss had joined the BAU, Strauss had been excited. She thought she'd finally have a "mole" of sorts. Someone to keep an eye on the other team members, to relay messages back to her whenever one of them was failing or having difficulties. Someone who didn't have the bias that the others did due to not knowing them nearly as long. Prentiss' mother was on very good terms with the FBI, and Strauss figured the woman had been raised to be as obedient as her mother, had learned how to play the game.

But so far, she didn't seem interested in that assignment. She was proving herself to be infuriatingly loyal, and to people who clearly didn't know the meaning of the word at that. Strauss wanted to laugh at the very idea. Could she really be so naïve? In this line of work, loyalty could shift any time, any day of the week. Surely Prentiss _had_ to be aware of that fact, right?

In short, this team was clearly struggling, and quite badly at that. She'd already discussed all of this with Agent Hotchner once before (and he'd argued back in the process, making a big speech defending his team, the lawyer in him coming out full force then). But it clearly looked like she hadn't gotten through to him. So now it was time for more drastic action in regards to the prickly agent. She would've called Agent Gideon in as well, but she was having a hard time getting hold of him. No matter. She'd deal with him, too, when the time came.

The bottom line was this: there were devastating consequences for one's reckless actions. And maybe, Erin Strauss thought, starting with a suspension at the top of the chain would get that message across, loud and clear.

_"Chaos was the law of nature. Order was the dream of man." - Henry Adams_


	15. Epilogue

**CHAPTER 15: Epilogue** _(Season 7, episode 6)_

**Character(s):** Rossi, Father Davison (briefly)

**A/N:** Mentions of various deaths related to certain team members. Also, I am not Catholic, so I am focusing on Davison's possible views on the topics discussed within, instead of the church's views as a whole.

* * *

_"We understand death for the first time when he puts his hand upon one whom we love." - Madame de Stael_

Today was the fifth time he stood looking at these graves.

It had been two weeks since Carolyn's passing, and David Rossi was back at the cemetery again, staring down at the spot where she was laid to rest. He would've been here every day if he could, but duty called, unsubs were to be caught, paperwork to be done. _Even now work still comes between us_, he thought dryly.

His eyes traveled back and forth between her grave and that of the one right next to it. The one that held a boy who left this world far, far too quickly. His baby boy.

It was at the funeral where his teammates had first seen that other grave. Some of them looked at him with a hint of surprise and curiosity in their eyes, others with heavy sorrow. None of them commented about it, though, and for that, Rossi was grateful. They knew if he wanted to discuss the topic further with them, he would.

_If._ That bitter memory would stare him in the face every time he was here (as well as when he wasn't), but to _not_ pay a visit seemed downright sacrilegious.

Now the pain was doubled, unfortunately. Instead of reflection and sorrow, though, Rossi's blood was boiling.

Every day, every single damned day, he heard stories about the worst of the worst, seen horrifying images that would stay with him for the rest of his life, listened to specific details of brutalities, some of which he didn't even realize humans were capable of. He was able to fill _multiple_ books about these crimes, these sorry excuses for people.

Most of those criminals were still alive and well. Sitting in jail, perhaps, or waiting for what seemed like ages for their ultimate punishments on death row, but still, they could breathe. They got to wake to see another day. Even worse, some got to do both of those things while having escaped punishment altogether.

Meanwhile, two people Rossi loved dearly lay cold in the ground. A sweet, lovely, intelligent woman who (he could easily admit this now) had been far too much of a saint to put up with him as long as she did, and a newborn who didn't even get a chance to see a full day.

And that wasn't all. He also thought of how Hotch's son Jack had been robbed of his mother when Haley died, as well as Hotch of a woman he once loved.

_Still loved_, Rossi corrected. He understood all too well Hotch's feelings for Haley even after their split.

Then there was Emily Prentiss. They'd very nearly lost her, thought they _had _actually lost her for a time. She'd even stated as much recently, with her story of coding in the ambulance after her battle against Ian Doyle. Every time he came here he'd think of her funeral, of the time afterward when he and his teammates had struggled to go on without her.

Rossi's gaze turned towards the bright blue sky, its brilliant beauty supposedly created by the very God that allowed him to be standing where he currently was. He wanted to rail at the total injustice and nonsense of it all. He may have been raised Catholic, may have still held some tenuous grasp on his faith, but it was times like this when he wanted to break all ties and walk away. He'd been to far too many damn funerals lately, had far too many close calls with loved ones. When would it all finally be enough?

That was one mystery that had been bugging him the past fourteen days. The other had to do with another recent discussion.

Hearing Prentiss and Reid talk about their near-death experiences had disturbed and confused Rossi. All Prentiss claimed to have seen in hers was total darkness, feeling no warmth anywhere. Reid, on the other hand, when discussing his own brush with death, claimed to have seen just the opposite. Good thing for him, of course, Rossi was glad he found comfort in that moment. But why wasn't Emily given that same good fortune and reassurance?

And what did that mean for Carolyn? Did _she_ see anything? If so, what? James, too. If such tragedy must befall such young ones, do they get a chance to have such visions? Would they even understand them?

Rossi shook his head, his mind spinning with all the questions. He took that as his cue to head out of the cemetery, only to turn away from his car at the last minute. He needed to walk a while. Clear his head. No specific destination, just…wandering.

Well, maybe he had _some_ idea of where to go.

* * *

A few minutes later Rossi found himself looking up at the cathedral looming over him, its grand, aged structure scholarly yet foreboding. He hadn't been to church in so long, in part because of his work, but also, admittedly, because he was finding it hard enough making sense of why the world was the way it was at his job. He didn't need to think about that very thing in church, too, especially with the knowledge that he'd probably get about as helpful an explanation there as he would anywhere else.

Still, though, his mind was obviously refusing to rest today. Even if he didn't get the answers he sought, maybe venting to someone, anyone, might help, at least a little bit.

Once inside the church, he settled into one of the pews, relieved to realize he was one of very few people there at the moment. Hands clasped in his lap, he took a moment to admire the various pictures on the glass windows, the soft, glowing candles that added to the hushed feel of the room. He even amused himself a bit by having a staring contest with the Jesus statue that loomed high in the room.

"David."

Rossi looked up then, the kind face of Father Davison coming into his line of sight.

"Father Davison," he replied, standing briefly to shake the priest's hand, before inviting the man to sit down next to him.

"What a pleasant surprise to see you here. May I ask what brings you by today?"

Rossi sat silently, bowing his head, tapping his fingers together a couple times. He blinked quickly before facing Davison.

"My first wife, Carolyn… She…she passed away, recently." Nope, still not any easier to say it aloud.

Father Davison placed a hand on Rossi's arm, his face now the picture of complete sympathy. "I'm so sorry, Dave."

Rossi merely nodded his thanks.

"I would tell you the usual comforting words people such as myself say in situations like this…but I have a feeling that's not really what you want to hear right now," Davison said wryly.

Rossi responded in kind, the first actual hint of a pleasant response within the last couple weeks. "You know me well."

"So," Davison continued. "what _are_ you here for, then, if I may ask?"

Rossi hesitated. He didn't want to betray the stories Emily and Reid had shared with the group. They'd probably never know if he had said anything to Father Davison, but still, that sort of information wasn't something one shared easily. Morgan had seemed genuinely shocked by Reid's revelation, after all, and those two were as close of friends as one could get.

But right now, he needed answers. He knew that whether he agreed with Davison's views or not, he'd always get a straight answer from the priest.

"Father," he began carefully. "you've heard stories about near-death experiences, I'm sure."

"Yes," Davison replied, curious as to where this was going. "Many people have come to me, describing in great detail what all they saw or heard. Loved ones appeared to them, there were lights. Some even say they saw Jesus himself."

"And you obviously believe them?"

"Of course. I think many people who make such claims, if not all of them, truly believe they saw the things they did. I can't claim to know what's going on in their minds at that moment, so how can I say they're wrong?"

Rossi nodded. He could accept that. "Did any of these people see nothing but darkness?"

Davison paused at this query. "A couple."

"Did this scare them?"

"Very much so."

"What do you make of that?"

He waited for a few moments as Davison mulled the topic over. "Are you wondering if I think that's a bad sign, the darkness?" Davison finally asked.

Rossi shrugged. "Maybe."

"No. No, not necessarily." He looked over to see Rossi staring at him, his eyes seeming to say, "Go on…".

"I think the darkness represents a warning, but not of immediate death. More like a warning to change your ways once you 'return from the dead', so to speak. Or to tell you that your time isn't up yet."

"Why would some people see that, though, while others get the lights and the people and everything?"

Davison sighed. "I honestly can't say for sure," he admitted.

Rossi raised his eyebrows. Not often one heard _that_ sentence in this setting.

Noting his friend's surprise, Davison explained further. "I personally think that if one is lucky to come back to life, any visions they see are up to them to interpret and do with what they will. I can try and tell them what I think their visions _might_ mean based off what I learn about what they've been through lately, and if I can find something in the Bible to support or explain their visions, and help them better understand them, I'll use it. But ultimately, it's something for them to figure out."

"Do you think everyone sees something before they die?"

"I think so, yes."

Rossi tried to swallow the lump that suddenly rose in his throat upon asking his next question. "Does…does it matter…their age…at the time of death?"

Davison gazed at Rossi with a slightly puzzled expression, leading Rossi to quickly duck his head. "…no. No, I shouldn't think that would matter."

Rossi let that sink in for a moment. Not a complete guarantee, but it was something to cling to.

Just then, a voice floated through the doorway, calling Davison's name.

"Ah, yes," Davison murmured. He then stood, turning to look down at Rossi. "I'm sorry to have to cut this short, but duty calls."

Rossi held up his hands. "It's fine, I completely understand." He stood as well, face to face with his old friend. "Thank you, Father, as always."

"Anytime, Dave. You know where to find me. Again, my deepest condolences to you." A quick pat on the shoulder, and Davison headed off.

* * *

The windows were rolled up, but Rossi still shivered a little. Fall was definitely making its appearance known, though he sensed that wasn't the only reason he was a bit chilled at the moment.

It'd been fifteen minutes since he'd left the church. He now sat in his car in the parking lot near the cemetery. Yet Rossi couldn't bring himself to drive away. He was still lost in his recent discussion with Davison, still had various names and memories floating through his mind.

_James. Reid. Haley. Emily. Carolyn. _

All these people had met with death. Four of them had it happen within the last four years alone.

Two of those people came back, though. Rossi obviously had to find comfort and solace in that fact, and he did. Reid's incident had been before Rossi's time, but that didn't make the mere thought of him going through such a frightening experience any less troubling to the elder man. He'd come to forge a close bond with the intelligent, quirky young agent over the years. He appreciated how they could be so honest with each other, he admittedly liked that Reid looked up to and trusted him and his opinions, and he truly enjoyed being able to be a mentor of sorts to the kid in return. Rossi greatly admired the ever-growing maturity and strength he observed in Reid, and looked forward to seeing what other successes lay ahead for him.

He enjoyed the friendship he had with Prentiss as well. She also had a refreshing honesty about her, but she also had a tactfulness that helped balance out his more blunt side. She was dignified and classy, and yet she could match wits with him or anyone else when bantering back and forth, had a natural tough streak in her that he could easily relate to.

She was also an incredible pillar of support in times of need. Prentiss had originally encouraged Rossi when he hoped to rekindle the romance with his first love, giving him as much advice as he needed. Once she found out about Carolyn's illness, however, she stopped, because what the hell kind of advice _do_ you give then? She knew what line not to cross.

No, she then chose to simply stay by his side, silently letting him know that she was there if he needed to vent, or hell, even if he wanted to break down and cry. He'd nearly forgotten how good a listener Emily was, how patient and understanding and sympathetic she could be. If she or Reid had actually died…Rossi didn't even want to think about the effects of those tragedies on the team as a whole.

None of this explained why he, or Hotch, or Jack had to go through their own pain and sorrow, of course, and Rossi didn't think any explanation would ever be sufficient enough or make sense. All he did know was that two people he cared deeply about did get their second chances. Whether it was a way to try and make up for what he and the others had lost over time, whether it was just random luck of the draw, he couldn't say. But to not make the most of said chances? Rossi knew that would be a very foolish move, on everyone's parts.

Rossi smiled as his thoughts turned back to Hotch then. He'd been amazing these last two weeks as well – much as he hated that personal tragedy was what bonded the two of them, there was definitely something to be said for having someone around who would truly understand what you're going through. Hotch had been leaving his office door open a crack each day, just in case Rossi happened to be passing by, just in case he wanted to "talk about anything". He never stated that aloud, but that was one of the many upsides to being friends with someone for so long. He didn't have to.

Rossi glanced at his watch. Everyone else had left work for the day hours ago, but when he'd left, Hotch was still plugging away upstairs. And if he knew his friend as well as he thought he did…

After finally starting up his car, Rossi began driving in the direction of the BAU building.

_"Faith begins where reason sinks, exhausted." - Albert Pike_


	16. Foundation

**CHAPTER 16: Foundation** _(Season 7, episode 18)_

**Character(s):** Morgan, JJ

**A/N:** Briefest of mentions of cutting, and while not explicitly talked about, there are some passing remarks on the concept of child abuse. Since those are obviously tense, unsettling subjects, best to give a heads up to be safe.

POV switch yet again between these two characters, but as always, tried to make it easy for readers. If it is confusing, though, don't hesitate to let me know.

* * *

_"Compassion brings us to a stop, and for a moment we rise above ourselves." - Mason Cooley_

Sometimes it's not so much the case itself you think back on, but rather the little things that happen within.

Having someone grab your hand, urging you to stay. I've had that happen. I've also heard someone's voice after waiting for ages, wondering if they'd ever talk again (and in my case, sometimes while I'm also wondering if I'll ever _see_ them again, too). Both kinds of moments are indeed wonderful.

But I don't think I've ever felt so much relief at watching a simple coin roll on a floor towards me. It was Angel's way of letting me know he trusted me. That he was willing to help, willing to be helped. That he wanted to take a step back towards something resembling normalcy.

Kids are so willing to trust adults about anything. They're older, they know everything in the world, how can they possibly be wrong? The day any child finds out how bad some adults can be is one of the worst days they'll ever go through. I feel horrible for the kids who never regain that trust, but I can't say I don't understand it.

Angel Suarez had finally started to talk again. In one way, obviously, that was good. He was showing signs of his old self. He would be able to talk to his mother again, to other kids. He was regaining some of his power.

But when he started telling me about what Allen did to him, I regretted longing to hear him talk. Not so much because it brought back such painful memories for me, though indeed, the memories I did have as a result brought those familiar feelings of shame and anger, and made my gut twist as tightly as it did back then.

No, I didn't want to hear him talk then because it was bad enough that his mind replayed those horrors again and again and again. Actually speaking about it out loud, though, that reminded him that it was real, that it wasn't just a nightmare. He had to describe actions and words that no child should ever have to describe or say. He'd have to talk about all of this more than once, for the police, for possible testimony, probably to a future therapist, too.

And for that, the dirtbag who put Angel here would pay.

_Easy, Morgan. Deep breaths. Look at JJ, see how she's holding it together? And she's got a kid._

I found myself thanking Hotch more and more for putting me with JJ this time around. Any other person were here, I know exactly how I'd be reacting. Butting heads with Hotch over how to handle Allen. Feeding off Rossi's own anger and disgust at the situation, and him feeding off mine, which wouldn't be good for either of us. Reid would fill my head with more statistics and disturbing information about Angel and kids like him than I needed to know and much as I love the kid and know he means well, it'd get to be too much after a while. Baby Girl's all the way back home in Quantico, and it's situations like this where hearing her voice on the phone just isn't enough. I'd want her physically here. Prentiss would be all right – we might argue a little, but she'd know how to put me in my place if I got too aggressive.

But JJ…she's got this calm about her, this incredible patience. Obviously comes from dealing with Henry, no doubt, but hell, _I'm_ finding her motherly tone soothing and comforting. Like, if she were sitting next to me right now, I could tell her _anything_.

* * *

_Morgan once thought about __**cutting**__ himself. _

Mister big, tough, kickass, don't-mess-with-me intimidating FBI agent _Derek Morgan_. Hurting himself.

I'm pretty sure my stomach nearly dropped out of my body altogether at that revelation. If I didn't hate Carl Buford enough before then…

Morgan was sitting in a chair next to the hospital bed, speaking softly to Angel. He'd been telling him stories to keep him occupied, some good, some heartbreaking, but it seemed to be working. Angel was talking now, beginning the healing process.

This was the side of Derek I liked the best. Sure, it was fun when he'd tease one of the other team members (namely Reid) about something, sure, I realized just how great a leader he was when he took on Hotch's role when needed. And sure, one couldn't help but be swept up by his natural charm.

But watching him patiently aid Angel through the stories of what the young boy had been through, watching him hold Angel's hand, seeing how passionate he was about making sure this boy, and all the other victims, got their justice? This was Morgan at his absolute best. This was what made me proud to call him one of my closest friends.

And at that moment, I was glad that he'd managed to keep that infamous temper of his under control. If he could control himself, so could I. Lord knows I'd been close to breaking many times as it was.

I had a hard enough time holding it together when talking to Mrs. Suarez earlier. One word, five letters, kept flashing through my head the entire time. _Henry. Henry, Henry, Henry… _

I had to refrain from calling Will every five minutes. "Is he okay? What's he doing now? Can you put him on the phone?" He would've tried to reassure me with that thick, sleepy voice of his, and I would've had to seal my lips shut to keep from exploding at him about the importance of this particular phone call. I'd always been careful about what to say and not say to him regarding my job – he'd already seen enough in his line of work that weighed on his mind. I didn't need my job piling on further.

Morgan would listen. Still, though, now isn't the time. I have to be strong, not just for Angel and myself, but also for him. He needs to stay focused right now.

But God, what I wouldn't give to vent to _someone_, _anyone_, anyway.

* * *

"I'm sorry, too, by the way," I said as I reached over to shut the door to my office. _Time to finally get out of here and go home._

JJ's brows furrowed in confusion as she turned to stare up at me. "For what?"

"For flying off the handle and storming out of the hospital earlier."

"Morgan, you don't need to apologize for that…" she began gently.

"Yeah, but I can't keep losing my temper like that all the time."

"I dunno, you were doing pretty good most of the time we were there."

"I think having you around helped." JJ stopped at those words, turned to face me.

"Really?"

I gave her a firm nod. "Yeah. You're good at calming people down." JJ let out a disbelieving scoff at that. "What?" Now _I_ was confused.

JJ turned away for a moment, looking like she was trying to hide a couple tears.

"When I was talking to Angel's mom? Or the rest of the team?" she began quietly, her voice slightly shaky. "I kept thinking of all the stories I heard about how that guy fooled those kids into trusting him. I kept thinking about how easy it could be for Henry to…" She stopped, biting her lip, taking in a breath, and I wanted so badly to reach out and hug her at that moment.

After a second, she continued. "The only reason I was concerned when you stormed off earlier was because I was afraid you might rush into the situation and get hurt. But your being angry and punching him?" I raised my eyebrows and her expression changed, a smirk now appearing. "Yeah, I heard about what you did when you got your hands on him."

I felt my cheeks heat up a little, but she shook her head as if to say, "It's okay."

"Anyway, the point is, I get it. I wanted to do the same thing. I feel that way anytime we deal with criminals who abuse kids. Like I said earlier, _you don't need to apologize_." Her piercing blue eyes focused intensely on mine then, emphasizing her last words even further.

This time I didn't hold back, reaching out and wrapping her up in my arms, gently rubbing her back, resting my chin atop her head. "Thank you," I whispered.

"Anytime, Morgan," she mumbled into my chest, her arms sliding around my waist. We stood, embracing, in the hallway of the BAU headquarters for a solid couple minutes or so. If anyone passing by gave a questioning look, a simple glare from me was enough to send them moving along quickly.

"All I know is any unsub who tried to hurt Henry wouldn't know what hit them," I said as I pulled away from her. "They may as well just start planning their own funeral, 'cause you would most definitely kick their ass."

"I learned from the best," JJ pointed out, nudging me. "But mostly it's a matter of, 'don't mess with the mama bear'."

That earned her a laugh from me. "Yeah, can't argue with that." A brief pause settled over us as we weaved through a small group of people passing by.

"Speaking of learning things, by the way, I didn't know you spoke Spanish."

"I studied it in school," JJ explained simply, shrugging her shoulders, as we resumed walking towards the elevators. "The stuff you heard is about all I really remember from class, though. Well, and a bit of the counting."

"I'm glad you knew _any_ of it. It helped a lot. You were really good with Angel." I looked at her again, hoping the words sunk in the way I wanted them to.

JJ shifted a little, smiling shyly. "So were you."

"I tried to be."

"You were, Morgan. Trust me." She gave me a pointed look as we stopped in front of the elevator. Then, after hitting the button, she turned back, a sly grin spreading across her face. "You know, you'd make a _great_ father..."

Groan._ Seriously?_ "Okay, is that a line from some handbook that all mothers learn how to say at some point? 'Cause now you're starting to sound like _my_ mama."

JJ laughed as we heard a ding and the elevator opened up. "What? I'm just saying I could easily see a bunch of little Derek Morgans running around…"

"Oh, god, _please_ don't start," I begged, closing my eyes in exasperation, as we slipped inside and I heard the doors close.

_"By compassion we make others' misery our own, and so, by relieving them, we relieve ourselves also." – Sir Thomas Browne_

* * *

_Reviews/critiques welcome, as per usual!_


	17. Haunted

**CHAPTER 17: Haunted** _(Season 5, episode 2)_

**Character(s):** Hotch, Prentiss

**A/N:** Some mild swearing, spoilers for the unsub and outcome of the case, and references to/mention of George Foyet and the situation he's put Hotch in.

* * *

_"He who fears to suffer, suffers from fear." - French Proverb_

Emily Prentiss waited nervously outside Aaron Hotchner's door.

She'd gotten the bright idea (that now didn't seem so bright) recently to give him a ride to work. She'd told him it was the least she could do to help a friend who'd been injured.

She didn't tell him it was so she could keep a close eye on him.

Hotch was no fool, though, of course. He _was_ a top profiler, after all. He knew her true intent. Which was why he'd tried to talk her out of the idea in every single way imaginable. He went into "lawyer speech" mode, gave her a list of reasons why he didn't need her aid. He was fine. He was cleared to drive. He wanted the solitude (that was a flimsy one, but eh, he'd go with it). He didn't want to put her out, to inconvenience her. And so on and so on.

Yet she'd roped him into the idea anyway. Well, with a little help from Rossi, at least.

Once she was let in, Emily knew Hotch wasn't in the mood for much more than small talk. Which was fine with her – she wasn't feeling very chatty right now, either. Contrary to what he was thinking, she wasn't looking forward to this car ride any more than she knew he was. It would be awkward, and he was already tense enough. She wasn't in the mood to start off her day dealing with that.

As she waited patiently, watching him fiddle with the alarm, however, she felt her initial anger subside. He was deliberate with every press of a button, with every glance at the little screen, making absolutely sure he'd typed in the right code for the alarm to work. As they left, she watched him tug the doorknob, press at the door itself, at least three, four times, reassuring himself it was indeed locked.

All of this made her hate Foyet that much more.

* * *

Hotch wasn't a naïve man. He knew the first day back wouldn't have been easy, case or no case.

But it was almost as though the universe had conspired to throw every difficulty imaginable at him today. His first case back _had_ to deal with a spree killer, and a deeply mentally unstable one at that, who wasn't even whom he claimed to be. He _had_ to work with locals who acted more like the people of Mayberry than citizens of a reasonably sized city. His team _had_ to botch things up and frustrate him today, from Garcia not getting the right information to Reid being of no help in the field thanks to his crutches to Morgan and his "I need to argue with my boss at every conceivable opportunity" attitude.

On the other hand, Morgan was the only one not walking around on eggshells around him, like he'd literally explode at any moment or something. So that whole thing came out as a wash.

The worst part of all of this, though, was the fact that there was someone even potentially worse than the unsub roaming around Louisville. Darrin Call's father had abused him, as well as many other children, in the area over the years. He'd destroyed many children's lives, many families' lives. Fathers were supposed to protect their children from the evils of the world, and this guy hadn't gotten that memo. Darrin had lost everything thanks to this guy, and he in turn caused other people to lose that which was important to them.

Maybe that's why Hotch finally snapped. Maybe that's why he walked straight into that house, unarmed, unprotected. Mitchell, Prentiss, Morgan, Rossi, they could all argue about this, about him, as long as they wanted. He didn't want to argue. He wanted to put a stop to this. _Now._

Hotch was supposed to talk Darrin down. He was supposed to disabuse him of the weapon he was aiming at his own father, and see to it he was safely taken into custody.

Instead, he played therapist to Darrin. All his ire was for Jarvis, who apparently still had no desire to be anything resembling a decent human being. He wanted the bastard to look him in the eye, wanted to know why he felt the need to inflict such cruel pain on people.

He'd never get an answer to his question. The sharp BANG! of a gun caused everyone waiting outside to rush into the house at once, total chaos.

A confusing mix of feelings ran through Emily as she surveyed the scene. Hotch was carefully cuffing Darrin, who stood with a shellshocked expression on his face. He wouldn't hurt anyone anymore. And yet, his face, his past, would haunt Emily the whole way home.

Jarvis, meanwhile, sat in his chair, dead. Had he been caught, he might've received that punishment anyway.

As for Hotch himself, Emily was beyond relieved to see him stand before her, and yet she wanted to slap him across the face.

Hotch noticed everyone staring back and forth between him and the horrific situation. He saw the frustration, confusion, and worry in his teammates' eyes once again.

The claustrophobic feeling began creeping up again. "I couldn't stop him," he lamely explained, referring to Darrin, before hightailing it out of there, the anger still bubbling inside him, the whole situation feeling…unresolved. One question, and one question only, ran through his mind.

_Did I _want_ to stop him? _

* * *

Emily did not handle tension well.

Some people, when faced with uncomfortable situations, confronted them head on. They yelled. They made jokes. Anything to try and fill the silence.

Not Emily. She resorted to drawing herself in, distancing herself as much as she could from the person or persons who were adding to the tense moment, staying quiet unless her comments were needed, her focus on her fingernails.

Unfortunately, tonight she couldn't do much of that, for she was too busy driving her boss home.

An entire rant had built up in her mind. Whereas she'd started the day annoyed with Morgan and his incessant arguing, choosing to be sympathetic to Hotch, after the elder agent's reckless stint at that house, she firmly jumped to Morgan's side. She wanted to yell at Hotch for scaring everyone, wanted to tell him the way he acted today wasn't the way to deal with his problems.

Instead, she merely kept her focus on the road. The drive was calming her down, but only a little.

"I'm sorry."

The sudden comment made her jump a little. Emily's gaze remained straight ahead, but she turned her head ever so slightly, so as to acknowledge she'd heard Hotch's voice. "What?"

"I'm sorry. For today." There was no emotion when he talked. Emily felt a little unnerved by that.

"It's okay." She tried to keep her voice light, as though to brush it off.

"No, it's not. Don't patronize me, Prentiss." For the first time that day, Emily welcomed the irritation. "I did something today that I've criticized the others for doing many, many times, and I shouldn't have."

Hotch's head dropped, his gaze on his lap, his arms folded. "I'm just…tired of this."

Emily stole a quick glance at her boss then as they stopped at a red light. Her heart broke as he drew himself inward, his face full of despair, his hair messy, tufts of it hanging awkwardly off his forehead. There were new wrinkles in his face, visible ones at that. He looked exhausted.

She wanted to say something reassuring. Wanted to place a hand on his arm, or his leg. To pull the car over and wrap him up in a strong, comforting hug.

She did none of those things. She simply kept driving.

Once she knew he was inside his apartment, once she realized he was the only one there, she stopped lingering at his door. Emily replayed her brief conversation with Hotch the whole way down, hoping, praying that he got the message she was trying to convey. _You aren't alone. You have us. Let us help you._

She had a feeling he heard it, though. It would just take a while for him to properly receive it, was all. But that was fine with her. She'd keep coming back every day and night, however long it took, to make sure he truly understood.

* * *

Hotch heard the faint footsteps echoing down the hall, and almost considered yanking open the door, calling Emily back.

He hated having a personal bodyguard of sorts, sure, but at least having her there allowed him to hear another voice. Her presence seemed to calm him more than he realized it would. And yet, at the same time, he wouldn't know how to handle her being there. He'd been alone for long enough now, to the point where the slightest change in routine, the slightest noise, would spook him.

It was funny what being completely alone would do to a person's mind. Hotch knew it was Emily at the door this morning, and yet the hairs on the back of his neck still stood up as he went to check the peephole anyway. His brain couldn't help but race through all the possibilities of who stood on the other side. Maybe it was his friends, come to check on him. Maybe it was Haley or Jack, sneaking out for a visit. Maybe it was the agent assigned to protect them, giving him updates (and, he always hoped, good, reassuring ones at that).

Or maybe it was _him_. Foyet. Hotch had taken to saying his name as often as possible, had become even more involved in studying him and his history. Say the name often enough, it loses its power, like a swear word would. Get to know your enemy and he won't frighten you anymore.

That's what Hotch hoped would happen, anyway.

He began wandering through his apartment for a few minutes. The whole place creeped him out now, and not just because he kept flashing back to Foyet lurking in his house, the sound of his footsteps behind Hotch as he snuck out from the shadows, the soft click of the gun being slowly aimed at his head.

No, there were other reasons that made him not want to be here, that made him long to just camp out in his office at work until this case was solved once and for all.

There was no spilt milk on the kitchen table or floor. There were no new drawings to hang on the fridge with pride.

No toys scattered about the living room that Hotch would surely trip over or step on at some point. Anytime his TV was on nowadays, it wasn't blaring the sounds of wacky cartoons.

He wasn't running through the hallway trying to wrestle his little boy into the bathroom to get him to wash up for the night. He didn't hear the splashing of water in the tub, his child's laughter echoing through the apartment as he played with his toys and blew bubbles everywhere.

He also wasn't hearing Jack bounding into his room to wake him up, or shuffling in begging to sleep next to him because of "nightmares". And he didn't hear him calling out for his dad at night, eager to listen to a bedtime story before being tucked in, "I love you"s passed between the two of them.

The first week after Haley and Jack had left, Hotch found himself calling out to his son each morning, telling him to wake up. Each time, reality would come back to smack him in the face. He'd tried since then to avoid making that mistake. Occasionally he'd catch himself. Other times, though…

Before turning in for the night, Hotch leaned in the doorway of his son's room. He hadn't looked in there since the day Jack left, and he just needed to see…

The moonlight illuminated Jack's bed, which was stripped bare. Spots where favorite stuffed animals and toys once lay were empty. Haley had Jack come in and pick out what to take with him – apparently he'd wanted to take nearly his entire room.

Hotch felt his chest constrict, felt tears spring to his eyes. No. Coming in here was a mistake.

"Good night, Jack," he whispered, grabbing the handle. "I miss you."

_"To lead is difficult when you're a follower of fear." - T.A. Sachs_


	18. Hit

**CHAPTER 18: Hit** _(Season 7, episode 23)_

**Character(s):** All

**A/N:** As always, mention of unsubs, crime.

Happy to keep gaining new followers and readers with this series! Again, I thank you all for your support and comments.

* * *

_"No noble thing can be done without risks" - Michel de Montaigne _

That noise couldn't be what she thought it was. It just couldn't be. Jennifer Jareau did **_not_** hear the unmistakable loud "POP" of a gun. Not while Will was inside.

Her body seemed to be telling her otherwise, though, as her legs quickly wobbled, threatening to collapse from under her at any moment. Morgan and Emily were both gripping her arms, horrified looks on their faces.

_Oh, God. Oh, God, oh, God, no. No, no, no, no…_

The next few minutes were a blur as someone – JJ could barely remember whom – got in touch with Garcia, asking her if she saw what happened to Will. All she could manage to remember was hearing Garcia sobbing and babbling incoherently from the other end of the phone, and then being taken to where Garcia was currently camped out.

Multiple thoughts ran through her head, pleasant ones, in an attempt to block out the current nightmare. Will kissing her good morning. Henry bounding around the house and yard, full of energy.

_"I love you, too." _

_"I love you, three!"_

How had it all fallen apart in just a few hours' time?

* * *

Aaron Hotchner inwardly cursed the robbers as he drove to the scene.

He felt his phone rubbing against his hip, and the debate whether or not to call home raged in his head. _Maybe we'll be able to talk them down quickly._

The more details he got, however, the more his heart sank as he realized that seemed pretty unlikely. These guys were professionals. They'd pulled off many heists before. The woman in particular was apparently notorious in other areas of the world for this crime. As well as her brutal murders.

_Is Beth watching the news?_ Probably not, as he'd surely be getting a frantic phone call from her right now if she were. _Just don't let Jack see this if you do turn on the TV, Beth._

Hotch's fingers brushed against his phone as he got out of the car and headed to meet with the local officers. He was tempted, _very_ tempted, to call, but he decided he was going to wait as long as he could.

_I promise you, Beth, Jack, I will be home as soon as I possibly can._

* * *

Erin Strauss rubbed her temples. How she longed for the safety of her office, her desk right now.

They'd lost a medic. The medic that _she_ insisted go in to help save Ollie. And now the director was breathing down _her_ neck! He wanted her to keep following standard procedures to try and bring these criminals down.

Strauss was a by-the-book kind of woman. Always had been. She'd brought the hammer down on the BAU many times for their "out of bounds" actions.

But at that moment, she really wanted to tell the director where he could stuff his suggestions. All the training procedures, all the advice and rules in the handbooks, all the test runs…_none _of it could ever truly prepare one for the real thing. This wasn't a retail store, or a restaurant, or some such place where you had a set list of ways to deal with unsatisfied customers.

These people were _murderers_. Murderers, by their very nature, do not tend to care about or follow rules or procedures.

After a tough internal debate, Strauss ultimately decided to give Hotch the go-ahead to try a new tactic. Excusing herself, she found a spot a little ways away from the others. Closing her eyes, she began taking in deep breaths.

"You okay?"

Her eyes flew open and she turned to see Rossi's face just inches from her own, his eyes full of worry and sympathy.

"…no," she admitted, after a moment.

She felt his hand on her shoulder then, a light pat that soon turned into a soothing rub. "We'll get them, Erin. I promise."

He could see her shoulders start to relax at his voice. She didn't hear the barked, urgent tone of David Rossi, the FBI agent, in that moment. She heard the tone of David Rossi, the lover, softly reassuring her, telling her everything would be all right.

Any lingering doubts Strauss had had about her trust in Rossi evaporated then and there.

* * *

Emily Prentiss tapped her fingers on the conference table, her jaw set in a thin line. She wanted to wring Clyde Easter's neck right then and there. _He should be thanking his lucky stars we need his help right now._

She heard Reid and JJ next to her, discussing the case, but she refused to look at them. She knew they'd give her those wary, questioning glances again, try and bring up that phone call with Easter. They seemed almost hurt when they'd looked at her earlier, actually, and in turn, that had hurt her. Did they _really_ think she'd say yes to Clyde's offer of running Interpol right then and there? That she'd happily leave them behind?

_Can you blame them? You've left abruptly before, after all._

But that was different, of course. Emily's life was in danger that other time. She did what she had to do then. This was something she would do only if she _wanted_ to. And what on earth would make Reid and JJ think she'd want such a thing to begin with?

Continuing the thought, why did Clyde think she'd be interested? It was bad enough that he presented her with that idea at such a hectic, dangerous time. But he presumed she'd immediately jump at the opportunity! He presumed she'd be willing to up and leave her town, just like that, and head right overseas!

_Except he didn't presume, really. He simply put the offer out there. You don't _have_ to take it. _

That last line found itself playing on a loop, like a warped record, in Emily's head the rest of the day.

* * *

David Rossi had always been recognized as a master negotiator.

However, at that moment, he felt like a frustrated, desperate rookie still learning the ropes.

"You just shot Shawn Harper. Not me, _you_." He could hear the mock groan in Chris Stratton's voice, the taunting, accusatory tone, and it made him feel ill.

Izzy, the leader of the group, was obviously rubbing off on Chris more and more. The fact he'd lost his brother Ollie, another member of the gang, in the midst of all the insanity had only made things worse –it seemed to make Chris snap. He hadn't even considered releasing the women and children being held hostage yet, didn't seem all that eager to do so. Rossi didn't even want to imagine what sick, twisted plans these nutjobs might have for the innocent victims if this terrifying situation continued any further.

He watched on the monitor as a panicked young woman named Annie was ordered up to the phone, sobbing out her name. He tried to reassure her, told her to hang in there, but he had to be honest – he was terrified right now.

"I hope Agent Rossi doesn't make me shoot you, too." Chris wasn't next to the phone, but his singsong tease echoed all the way through the line.

Rossi wanted to put this jackass's head through the nearest wall.

The back and forth continued for what seemed like ages, as Rossi watched Chris torture the hostages, debating whose life was next to be put on the line.

Rossi couldn't take any more of this. He had to put an end to the madness once and for all. Having seen the trembling, terrified faces of the victims, having listened to their tearful pleas, by now, Rossi anxiously awaited hearing what Chris' requests were. He was desperate enough to do anything this guy asked now.

"I wanna talk to the cop who shot my brother."

Except that.

* * *

Will LaMontange was sick of sitting around. Too many people had been killed. If this asshole wanted to deal with him directly, fine, he could take it. He actually longed for it – maybe he'd get the chance to beat the crap out of the guy in the process.

It didn't surprise him when JJ vehemently vetoed the idea of him meeting up with Chris. He'd already nearly given her a heart attack earlier in the day when she'd heard about his close call during the shootout. And indeed, he never wanted to cause her any pain or worry.

But it kind of irritated him that the rest of her team wasn't on board with the idea of him going in. They put themselves in plenty of risky situations and came out fine. He surely could do the same – his job wasn't too dissimilar to theirs, after all. Besides, sometimes when dealing with hostage situations, you have to give the bad guys what they want.

He watched as SWAT gathered, preparing to go in. Local police and FBI agents were settled behind their cars, guns at the ready. It seemed like everyone else was able to get involved in this but him.

Sorry. That just wouldn't do. He respected JJ and her teammates, but enough was enough.

Steeling himself despite his nerves, Will strode towards the front doors of the bank, JJ's screams and shouts of "WILL!" echoing in his ears the entire time.

* * *

Penelope Garcia was not a field agent. And thank goodness for that – the stuff that was broadcast over her monitors on a daily basis was more than enough for her. The few times she did join the team on a case always left her drained. The victims they dealt with may have been strangers, but she still worried about and cared deeply for them. When they didn't make it, it took her a while before she felt herself again.

Today, however, it wasn't a stranger she'd just watched get shot. No, this time it was someone she knew personally. The father to her precious, innocent godson. A man she cared about, and whom one of her best friends loved.

She knew exactly what JJ was going through. It was the same "body shaking all over" sort of fear she always felt when she'd hear about one of her "intrepid crimefighters" in peril. And Kevin may have been a tech analyst like her, but dangerous situations had unfolded at the BAU offices before, and she'd always worried about him in those moments – _would_ always worry, should he find himself in danger…

She couldn't stop picturing JJ's pale, horrified, heartbroken face. Couldn't stop hearing her broken, tearful voice as she asked if Will was still alive. Incensed now, she felt a second wave of determination

"That's it," she muttered as she sat back down in front of the monitors, cracking her knuckles and letting her fingers fly across the keyboard. "You're not going to hurt any more people today, you creeps."

* * *

Derek Morgan clenched and unclenched his fists in an attempt to control his frustration. He needed to stay calm right now, for JJ's sake as well as everyone else's.

Easier said than done, of course.

He'd _told_ Will he was too close to the situation. So had Hotch. Why didn't he just stay back?

Guilt washed over Morgan immediately thereafter. _He was just trying to help. Besides that, he was right. I would've done the same thing. Look at what I did to hunt down Doyle, after all._

Morgan lined up alongside behind two SWAT members. He took a second to check on her. She'd managed to compose herself, transforming back into a steely-eyed agent. She was ready to fight, and he would be by her side the whole way.

JJ caught Morgan looking at her then.

"You ready?" he asked.

"Let's go." Not even a flinch.

Hands braced against the SWAT members' backs, they, along with Emily and Hotch, began their march towards the bank.

* * *

Spencer Reid paced back and forth anxiously, occasionally throwing a glance over at the male tech analyst typing away next to him. He honestly didn't know how Kevin was managing to remain so calm right now.

He couldn't get his mind off of JJ. What she must've been feeling, hoping she was taking time to collect herself. And what of Will? All Garcia had told him about the whole situation was, "It's bad". This was one of those times when Reid longed for Garcia to ramble on a bit more.

It wasn't fair. Will was a good man, they were a good family. Reid didn't even want to think about the devastation that would result for JJ and Henry if Will… He wasn't a religious man, but he sent a silent hope to someone, anyone, anyway. _Please let him be all right._

Reid shook himself out of his thoughts. He needed to pay attention, and he needed to pay attention _now_. No, he couldn't be where he wanted to be, where he felt he _should_ be, at the moment, but maybe Garcia was right. Maybe he could still be of some use holed up in this room.

He studied the tapes over and over again, replaying all the awful, tragic scenes of the last few hours. But with each new viewing he became more and more frustrated. He was a man of logic, and none of what he saw was even remotely logical. The man and woman seemed to be basically winging it at this point with the robbery. The woman kept leaving the main area of the bank all the time, and the man was getting increasingly nervous, which in turn was making him more reckless with the hostages. As a result, Reid had no earthly idea what their next move would, should, or could be.

And that unsettled him deeply. These guys were supposedly skilled criminals, they'd pulled these events off perfectly before. Where did things go so wrong today, and why?

But that wasn't the biggest mystery he wanted to solve. That woman was bugging the hell out of him. She could play confused and clueless one moment (when she couldn't seem to find an exit), only to turn around and become cold and calculating the next. The next few minutes were spent watching her every move carefully, intensely. Kevin tried to get Reid's attention at one point, possibly, but he was lost in thought, the wheels in his head working overtime.

He watched her head off to search the bank again. Followed the route she took.

He found that section on the layout of the building, staring at it and the rest of the picture for what must've been the thousandth time.

Then it hit him like a brick to the face.

The gas mains.

Another, more panicked thought quickly followed that one. His teammates…they were just outside…

Reid began to feel sick to his stomach. "Garcia, get them out of there!" he begged as he jammed at the speaker.

But it was too late.

_"A victory without danger is a triumph without glory." - Pierre Corneille_

* * *

_As always, welcome reviews/critiques/etc.!_


	19. Hope

**CHAPTER 19:** **Hope** _(Season 7, episode 8)_

**Character(s):** Garcia

**A/N:** Apologies for getting behind in the posting! Thanks to **thesoundofasmile** for poking at me and getting me in gear again. I promise from here on out I'll see to it it won't take so long.

As always, spoilers regarding the unsub, brief mentions of the case as well. Quoted parts in the first couple of sections are courtesy of the episode's writer, Kimberly Ann Harrison.

* * *

_"Most of the important things in the world have been accomplished by people who have kept on trying when there seemed to be no hope at all." - Dale Carnegie _

I can't do this.

_Why_ did I think I could do this? Why did I insist on going inside the house?

_Monica, remember? You're helping her._

But there's other ways to do that. The others have training and experience in hostage negotiation. I don't. Because I'd suck. I'd get nervous and all emotional and start sweating and confuse the hostage or the unsub and start rambling on kind of like I'm doing right now and…

_Breathe, Garcia. In. Out. In. Out. The others are in back. JJ's here with you. Think of Monica. Think of Hope._

I'm not sure what scares me more right now. Dealing with Bill, or what I might see once inside. I know Monica's alive, I heard her voice on the phone, but…but…

JJ's radio crackles with an announcement that the others are inside. Okay. Maybe I _can_ do this now.

First surprise upon entering the house? The place is actually really nice. Modest, yet comfortable, homey. And it's _clean_. It's so well-kept! Practically spotless…and I _really_ hope that doesn't imply what I think it might.

Second surprise? Monica's in one piece. Physically speaking, anyway. Thank God.

"Bill?" _Remain cautious, gentle. Don't spook him_. "Bill, I don't want to upset you."

Actually, I want to strangle your neck. "Attentive and compassionate" my ass, JJ.

He's calm, though. Her advice seems to be working, and she'd know better than me how to deal with these situations, so I'll go with it.

"I know the pain you feel, I get you."

He buys that line! How? _I_ can't even believe it, and I'm the one who said it!

I can't imagine there's much out there that would be creepier than trying to talk to a kidnapper and rapist about love. About the person they "loved". And yet here I am, talking about such things anyway. Trying to actually sympathize with this guy's warped feelings for a _child_. "You were trapped inside a cocoon just waiting for somebody to set you free."

Really, Garcia? I know, butterflies and all that, but still, how cheesy can you get?

_"I lost my child!" _I can't even look at her right now, there's so much anguish in her face, in her voice. Whatever resolve I currently have is quickly slipping away, and I wish to all that is good that I were having this conversation with Bill someplace far away from her.

"You need to let her know why this is all happening." I can feel my stomach churning as I say those words. I know it's not what Monica wants to hear, it's certainly not what I want to talk about. It's a crappy explanation for all this madness. But she needs answers. I'd rather she hear about this from me than in some interview room at a police station with some random officer anyway.

Bill simply gives me an odd look. "…my baby?"

That does it for Monica. She's breaking. She's breaking, and if I weren't so scared to move, if I weren't so busy worrying about what Bill might do next, I'd wrap her in the biggest hug imaginable.

The sudden sound of footsteps answers my questions for me as my friends enter the room, guns drawn. All I'm focusing on are JJ and Reid's voices. They're so calm and controlled, ready to get Monica and me out of the potential line of fire at any time.

Bill knows they mean business, and I feel my knees wobbling as he slowly sets down the gun.

Oh, thank goodness. I distracted him. We talked him down. Nobody got hurt. I don't have to see –

There's sudden movement out of the corner of my eye. _Monica, sit still. __**Sit still. **__No, don't grab the gun…_

"MONICA!"

I immediately shut my eyes. The sound of the gunshot rings in my ears for a long time afterward, though.

* * *

_"JJ, the things we talk about in that group are beyond personal."_

I don't even know if I want to go to my support group tonight. I don't know if I can face them.

There were two things about my job I absolutely hated. The first one was also the most obvious – all the gory images and stories I had to see and hear. I've been doing this job for years, and yet I still don't think I'll ever fully understand how or why people can be so cruel to each other.

The second reason involved snooping around. Not so much because I have a problem with snooping in and of itself. I'm a hacker at heart, after all – I can be very sneaky in my searches. I love hearing all the juicy details about who my friends might have a crush on, might be dating. And lord knows I can gossip with the best of them.

But see, that's the _fun_ kind of snooping. I'm learning good things about people, seeing them happy, talking about lighthearted topics. Even my hacking activities were never used for bad purposes, contrary to what the FBI may have thought way back when.

Unfortunately, I deal with the complete opposite at my job. I've learned dark secrets about close friends. I research innocent victims, only to find out their lives were not always so innocent. I have to keep my suspicions up, have to wonder sometimes what other secrets the good people in my life are hiding from me.

It took some of the people in that support group _months_, if not _years_, to fully tell me or the others everything they felt, thought, did, to deal with whatever tragic event they were struggling with. I looked them all in the eyes and swore to them anything they shared would stay in that small meeting room.

On this past case, though, in one fell swoop, I became a liar. I know it was for a bigger cause, I get that. I was willing to do _anything_ to help save Monica – luckily, my information helped. And ultimately, the people in the group will never know I talked about them to JJ or the rest of the team, and I know none of my teammates will ever tell anyone else the information I shared (nobody _they_ know would realize who they'd be talking about anyway).

None of those facts will ever erase my guilt, though.

* * *

It seems the group becomes fuller each week. Plus side: Strength in numbers. Downside: Knowing there's _that_ many people out there in pain.

The regulars smile as they come in tonight, their usual greeting. The new ones hang about nervously for a moment or two, before sneaking in. Like they think someone's going to tell them they don't belong there, or they're afraid someone will hear their story and think they're crazy.

_One of them _was_ crazy. And I didn't see it at first. How could I be so blind?_

No. Stop. Bill was an anomaly. The Bills in this world are outnumbered by all the good people. I have to believe that.

I _do_ trust people. I trust my team. I trust my support group. I wouldn't open up to any of them about my own tragic loss, nor would I allow others to open up about their own personal, painful moments, if I didn't.

I've been down this road before. My support group, my teammates, and I have all literally danced with death, many, many, _many_ times. We've encountered the worst of the worst of humanity along the way. We've felt pain and grief and sorrow.

Somehow, though, we always come out of those moments better and stronger than before. We all seem to come to the same conclusion every single time: Life is too short to live in fear of everybody, to believe it won't ever get better. I think that's going to be the topic of discussion for our group tonight.

It's just about time to begin the meeting. There's only one more person I'm waiting for.

Seven pm. Not here yet.

Seven-ten. Well, maybe she's running late.

Seven-twenty. Oh, god, tell me this isn't happening again. Tell me she's okay.

Seven-thirty, and my hand is on my phone, ready to dial. Then I see her head poke in.

I let out one hell of a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding. "Monica."

"Sorry I'm late," she says softly as she takes a seat amongst the others. They all throw her reassuring, understanding smiles.

"Good to see you." _And I mean that in every way imaginable._ "Shall we begin, everyone?"

_"Hope is necessary in every condition. The miseries of poverty, sickness, of captivity, would, without this comfort, be insupportable." - Samuel Johnson_


	20. Hopeless

**CHAPTER 20: Hopeless** _(Season 5, episode 4)_

**Character(s):** Hotch, Morgan, Garcia

**A/N:** Again, usual spoilers about the case and certain people/aspects of it. Italicized quotes at the beginning of each section, as well as all other quoted lines, are courtesy of the episode's writer, Chris Mundy.

* * *

_"One should…be able to see things as hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise." - F. Scott Fitzgerald _

_"This level of brutality is almost like a challenge from the unsubs, trying to drag everyone down to their level. And it's a natural reaction." - Hotch_

Hotch needed to walk away.

He'd already seen more than enough violence the last few days while on this case. He wasn't about to watch death play out before his eyes once again.

There was no question just how despicable these criminals in their latest case were. He saw the effects of their violence, their sadism up close and personal. They didn't mess around. And their "reason" as to why they did what they did? Pretty fucking pathetic.

He would fully understand the people whose loved ones died at these sickos' hands standing outside this house with guns drawn. The local cops and families affected by these crimes didn't know it, but Hotch could relate to their vigilante attitudes far too deeply. He was, after all, still dealing with the menacing black cloud over his head that was Foyet, as well as the loss of his family, and the uncertainty as to when he'd see them again.

There were days when the silence of his home was just too much for him. When he'd see videos of his son going through all the big moments of childhood, moments he was missing out on. When he'd think about Haley, and how his job, his narrow focus, his obsession with catching the bad guys, had ruined their relationship and put her in actual danger. Those were the days he wanted his own vigilante justice. He'd lost count of all the fantasies he had about destroying Foyet, taking him down so fast and so hard that the bastard wouldn't even know what hit him.

But Hotch also believed in proper justice. He'd been a prosecutor. He knew the legal system wasn't perfect. Far from it, actually.

However, when a case _did_ turn out okay - when they got their guy, and he was taken from the courtroom to where he'd serve out his sentence – Hotch relished knowing the system had worked. He loved knowing that they managed to get a criminal off the streets without further pain and bloodshed. Moments like that were perfect reminders as to why he loved his job.

It was no secret he hadn't been feeling that sort of contentment in his current line of work lately. Part of it was obviously due to the whole thing with Foyet. Hotch tried desperately to learn to accept and deal with his current situation, God knows he tried. First and foremost, for his team's sake. It was pretty obvious that he'd scared them recently with all his outbursts and reckless behavior – hell, he'd scared himself. He knew full well he didn't want to put them through any of that again.

And suppose Haley got wind of his recent behavior? She might not want to bring Jack back, even if the threat surrounding Foyet passed without further incident. No, Hotch needed to stay sane, safe, controlled, for everyone's sake.

Secondly, Detective Andrews may have been a gruff, impatient, irritating man at times, but strangely, Hotch appreciated having to deal with him during this case. Their talks threw everything into sharp focus for him. Yes, revenge could be satisfying…but only for a brief moment. It wouldn't solve your problem, it would make certain people lose respect for you, and worst of all, it would consume you, to the point where you can't function in everyday life. And lord knows Hotch already had enough tragic images stuck, permanently so, it seemed, in his brain.

That was the other reason he hated coming to work lately. It seemed like nobody could catch a break nowadays, if the team's recent line of cases were anything to go by. As if the world had gone absolutely batshit insane.

The pig farm in Canada had been a particularly nasty doozy. That case wore everybody down in a way Hotch hadn't seen before, and it frightened him. Had the events in his apartment not happened, he almost expected resignations on his desk the next day at work.

Then of course, there was the anthrax scare. The "road warrior", who'd not only murdered innocent civilians – no, he had to take out his entire family as well. Hell, Hotch could trace his current feelings as back as far as the bombings in New York. He still had days where he'd hear that sudden high-pitched whine in his ears, he still had a couple scars on him that hadn't fully healed, he still felt immense guilt over losing Kate. To say nothing of the fact that the tension between him and Morgan seemed to rear its ugly head off and on.

It was a never-ending pile of shit, it seemed, and all of it had taken a lot out of him, out of his teammates. Worst of all, in some of those cases, the criminals never saw the proper justice they deserved. Some criminals took the coward's way out, killing themselves. Families didn't always get the closure they deserved.

The whole situation was frustrating at best, soul-crushing at worst.

Which was why a certain idea had started to form in Hotch's mind in the last few weeks. Maybe he should step down from his job. Not permanently, of course. Perish the thought. He knew, despite all the insanity of the last year or so, he wouldn't be able to handle a quieter, more uneventful job. He knew he'd long to come back eventually.

No, it'd only be for a little while. Until they caught Foyet. Until his family came back, and he felt safe with them, and they with him. He could take the time to clear his mind, focus properly on the internal drama he was dealing with, and maybe be able to solve all of this madness a bit more quickly. Despite his issues with Morgan, Hotch knew full well that the guy was a natural born leader. He'd meant it in New York when he said he trusted Morgan. Perhaps now was the time for him to prove that to the man, and for Morgan to prove himself as well, the way Hotch knew he would.

Yes. The more he thought about it, the more he felt this was what he had to do. He would therefore see to it he could talk to Morgan about the idea as soon as possible.

* * *

_"Look me in the eye and tell me that the first break in this case, you don't run right to her and give her the news yourself." - Garcia_

Garcia needed to walk away.

That became apparent when she saw Morgan's empty chair, and all she could think to do was shake her head.

Garcia had always been accused of being a bit nosy ("a bit". Ha!). She didn't _mean_ to be…not really, anyway. It's just that she loved her team. They weren't just her team, they were her friends, her _family_, cheesy as that might've sounded. She cared about what happened to all of them. What others called "nosy", she called "looking out for", and that's what she did with her friends.

Which was why watching Morgan and Tamara dance around each other bugged her to no end.

Contrary to what many people would think, her feelings towards Tamara weren't borne out of jealousy. She'd been aware of the rumors and whispers she'd heard about herself and Morgan over the years. They were together, or _wanted_ to be together, they were "friends with benefits", etc.

To be fair, Garcia could see where they might think such things. Indeed, all her comments about Morgan's attractivness were just her speaking the truth. She was only emphasizing what should be blatantly obvious to anyone with working eyes, after all. She also did love him dearly. That was definitely no lie. And she also knew that all the things he said about her – being his "God-given solace", his "baby girl" – were sincere.

But they played up the flirty aspect of their friendship. It was fun, it was silly, it was something to lighten their moods when things got way too serious and dark at their job. The bottom line was, she was perfectly happy and madly in love with Kevin, and Morgan was happy to continue checking out the variety of sexy women out there, and that was that.

No, instead, there was a whole list of legitimate, much more serious reasons the whole situation with Tamara bothered her, most of which she'd already given Morgan when she tried to talk to him. The ethical issue was a big one. Courts don't take too kindly to bias, to conflict of interest. They just want the facts and nothing else. Unfortunately, the deeper things might get between Tamara and Morgan, the blurrier that situation would become. Morgan knew that, and yet he didn't seem to care. Garcia almost wanted to laugh when he tried to deny he was "involved".

"The team is here working on a case and you're with her. You're involved," she'd told him. He brushed it off anyway.

Ultimately, that issue wouldn't matter in the end, because the unsubs had died in a shootout. But still, it was something Morgan might want to think about for the future.

Besides, there was still one other big issue looming. Tamara was a good woman. A pretty woman. Hanging around a good man. A handsome man. It didn't take a genius to figure out what that would lead to. Garcia knew she'd eventually fall for Morgan, if she wasn't already. She also knew Tamara was hurting, and badly at that.

Therefore, Morgan couldn't be the person for her.

Not because he wouldn't try, heavens, no. Rather, because Garcia saw what this job did to the men's relationships. Hotch couldn't be there for Haley at the times she needed him. He even had a hard time always being there for his _son_. Rossi had been through three marriages, in part because of his job (his wandering eye also factored in, but that's a whole other story). Morgan was similar to them in many ways – tough, strong male, not nearly as big a workaholic as the others, but he still kept crazy hours. He was very devoted to his job. He'd already gotten a promotional offer in New York City, and with his abilities, he could easily get more.

Plus, even if he tried to settle down right now, he wouldn't do very well at it, and Garcia knew Tamara wasn't the girl to tame him.

None of this explained why Garcia and JJ's relationships seemed to be flourishing in comparison to the men of the group, of course. Maybe it was a gender thing, maybe it was just dumb luck – after all, Garcia and Kevin had only been together a little over a year. She shouldn't quite count her lucky stars just yet.

But for whatever reason, the men of the BAU seemed to have difficulty with their relationships, either in continuing them or starting them in the first place. Many a broken heart followed them. She knew Tamara would join those ranks, and she also knew that Morgan would move on, but he'd still feel some level of guilt for ending things with Tamara that way.

"She's so sad, and so confused, and angry and desperately looking for anyone to swoop in and make it all better. And unless you're all in and can be there for every stage of the grieving process, you're just another reason for her to not trust the world."

Garcia had hoped that explanation would be enough for Morgan. She hoped it would make him see why it would be a very, very bad idea to continue things with Tamara.

Yet the case was over, and his chair was empty.

She'd given him solid, rational advice, as his longtime friend and confidante. He knew full well she wasn't doing it to be mean or cruel. And he'd ignored her anyway. Dismissed her. Garcia knew she wouldn't be able to deal well with more of that, nor with watching him break a perfectly sweet and lovely girl's heart.

No, it was best to simply move on, and avoid all of that potential heartache.

* * *

_"I'm sorry. I know that sounds like something people say, but…I truly am sorry." - Morgan_

Morgan couldn't walk away.

He had to keep a closer eye on Hotch. He was making no bones about the fact that he was genuinely scared for his boss. The guy's decisions were feeling more and more "off" lately. He'd nearly taken practically everyone's heads off at some point in Louisville. And now he was deciding to walk away, just when they were so close to finally getting the scumbags they'd been dealing with on this last case.

Morgan understood Hotch feeling lost what with Foyet still out there, and with his family gone. He really did. And he felt absolutely horrible for the poor man.

But the situation was clearly, and obviously, starting to noticeably weigh on Hotch. He appeared to have aged at least ten years seemingly overnight. His face, which everyone used to jokingly call "grim", now actually looked every inch of the description of that word. Ominous. Foreboding. Hopeless.

There were deep bags under his eyes. It was becoming increasingly apparent to Morgan that mentally and physically, all of this would kill Hotch if he didn't take some time to get himself together, and soon. He knew that hell would probably freeze over first before Hotch ever even considered the idea of stepping down, however.

All the more ironic, then, that despite wanting Hotch to take a break, Morgan was also completely sympathetic to his rage, and longed for him to show more of it. Lord knows he'd been feeling absolutely disgusted throughout the recent case. Innocent people were dying, and what was the motive one of the criminals gave him? They _liked_ what they were doing. They _wanted_ to kill people. Just for the hell of it.

He really hoped the families wouldn't ever have to hear that sorry excuse for a reason. As he stood with the cops earlier that night, all of whom had their guns drawn, all of whom were ready to open fire on the house that held the remaining creeps, he was seriously considering making absolutely certain they never would.

It definitely wasn't what he told Tamara when he came to her house later that evening, after all.

"I just wanted to come by and let you know that it was over. We got 'em."

Her head dropped, her body shook with a mixture of sobs and relief, and Morgan knew he'd made the right choice. He wanted to put his arms around her, to hold her and comfort her, but Garcia's voice wouldn't stop echoing in his head. He could only imagine what she'd have to say about this moment.

Though, really, then again, what business was it of hers, anyway? And why did he care so much what she had to say about this? After all, didn't he once reassure Reid when the kid had gotten personally involved with a girl he was looking out for on a case? Didn't he tell him that it wasn't something to beat himself up over?

He still firmly believed that. He wasn't doing anything wrong here. Sure, Tamara was attractive, he couldn't deny that – in any other instance, he would've asked her out by now. But you can't help who you're attracted to. Besides, he would've been bending over backwards to help and see to it justice was served no matter _what_ the victim looked like.

Wouldn't he?

Of course he would. He simply wanted to know Tamara was okay. He wanted to be sure she could find the comfort and reassurance she was looking for. To tell her she could grieve and move on at her own pace.

Yes. That was the only reason.

_"The second you think a situation is hopeless, it suddenly loses all meaning. A situation is just a case, condition, or state of affairs. It only becomes hopeless when you need to define an explanation." - Benson Bruno _

* * *

_As always, reviews/critiques are welcome and appreciated!_


End file.
